Oh Brother Of Mine
by YourLoyalBlogger
Summary: Sherlock and John have only till 9pm to solve five puzzles before somewhere in London goes up in flames. But when Moriarty is involved not all is what it seems... Made from the sherlock bbc fic kink meme, full of banter, h/c, humour and angst
1. Chapter 1

I do not own BBC Sherlock. Many chapters are quite short, as I tend to write chapters like scenes from the show...if that makes sense. This was made for the Sherlock BBC Fic kink meme.

* * *

><p>It started with a note.<p>

Not a long note, nothing elaborate or over the top, just a simple note. Left on a that phone, the one we got from our friendly neighbourhood bomber. One simple message had turned our lives upside down.

It had changed everything and everyone that was involved. But no one more than Sherlock. But this is no way to begin a story. So I'll take you back, back to when it all started, back to when we first received this message from one James Moriarty.

* * *

><p>John strolled into the kitchen, brushing his teeth, dressing gown on and hair soaking wet. "John.. you're dripping all over the floor". John shrugged, searching through the cupboard for something. "John, it's dangerous, someone might slip and fall". The doctor looked over at the man perched above the kitchen table.<p>

"And exploding the toaster isn't?"

"It was an experiment"

"Thats your excuse for everything. TV blows up, experiment, toes in my jam, experiment, shooting the wall, experiment. Wait, that wasn't an experiment, you were just bored!"

Sherlock smiled from his position over the microscope. "The wall had it coming". "Of course it did" John rolled his eyes and went back to brushing his teeth, but did leave the room, the last thing he needed was Sherlock slipping on a wet floor and needing John to stitch him up. And Sherlock was a terrible patient, such a child. John went back to his own room, changing into trousers, shirt and white woollen jumper.

BEEP!

John raised his eyebrows, that wasn't his phone, his was in the living room. It wasn't Sherlocks either, Sherlock had his. The left only one phone. One very pink phone. Moriarty. John walked over to his desk, retrieving the pink clad phone and searching for a new message. Oh no... this was very not good.

"Sherlock!"


	2. Chapter 2

John ran out of his room and into the kitchen. Sherlock was still busy with the microscope, looking at god knows what. He hadn't heard him. "Sherlock!". The detective looked up. "What is it John?"

The doctor was clearly agitated. This got Sherlock's attention immediately. "Whats happened?". The doctor thrust the phone at him. "Its him! He's back Sherlock!". Sherlock looked down at the phone in his face, the pink phone. Oh. He took the phone from his friend.

"He sent us a message?"

"He sent you a message, It's addressed to Sexy, thats what he first called you isn't it, in The Great Game?" John's title for a particular incident Sherlock would like to forget. "What's it say?". "Read it!". Sherlock unlocked the phone and eagerly searched for the new message. Finally something to end the boredom, he just hoped this new puzzle would not harm anyone, he didn't need more deaths on his conscience like last time. There, new message : Hello Sexy. He clicked and opened it.

_Hey there sexy, are you as bored as I am? How about a little game, a treasure hunt! But lets make things more interesting, more...explosive. Find all the clues in time and defuse the bomb or you lose! Here's your first clue. Find it and it will lead you the next! Have fun sexy, I'll enjoy watching you dance xxx Jim_

Sherlock grinned. " What is it, what did he say?". Sherlock held up a hand to silence his friend, he needed to see their first clue. There was an image attached. The corner of a room. Interesting.

"John, call Lestrade, let him know who's back and a bomb, theres a bomb somewhere in London"

"Not again!"

"Fraid so"

* * *

><p>John ran off to call the DI. Sherlock sat on his chair, staring at the image. "Yes, yes I know, he's back. Yes Sherlock says theres a bomb, I know another one. No he doesn't know where, I'll ask and call you back later. Ok.. bye!" John ended the call. "Lestrade wants information as soon as you know Sherlock, he's on his way over."<p>

"Oh.. he's not joining us is he?"

"Joining us on what?"

Sherlock gave another grin.

"Want to go on a treasure hunt John?"


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock was perched on his chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together under his chin, he was very deep in thought. He knew this room, but from where? It was perfectly ordinary.

Green wallpaper, new, hint of old wallpaper underneath, new tenant in a flat who was lazy. Wood floors, hint of large burn under a large rug. So, the rug was brought to cover the burn, so its larger than it looks. Interesting.

John sipped his tea, watching out the window, watching and waiting. "Got anything yet?". Sherlock waved a hand over. "I know this place, Im sure of it, tell me what to you see?" John picked up the phone glancing at the image.

"Well... I don't know, nothing to go on"

"Theres plenty to go on"

"Maybe for you"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and took back the phone. "Its a flat Im sure. New tenant is a young man, probably early twenties, lazy or very busy, see the wallpaper? He's simply covered the old. Theres a burn on the floor, but its larger than it looks or he wouldn't have brought a rug to cover it up. Theres a burn..."

"Yes you said that bit"

"Yes yes but John! Its not from a house fire, its localised...Oh! Oh I'm so thick!"

"Sometimes..."

"What?"

"Nothing. You figure something out?"

Sherlock grinned. "Oh yes, I know where to find the next clue! Get Lestrade" The detective stood, grabbing his coat and scarf and quickly put them on, placing the phone in his pocket. "And tell him what?" John had taken his gun from his room, hiding it under his jacket.

"Tell him to meet us on the corner of Montague street"

"The next clue is on Montague street?"

"Correction, the next clue is in my old flat"


	4. Chapter 4

It didn't take them too long to reach Montague street. John was intrigued to find out where Sherlock had once lived, his friend rarely mentioned anything about his past. They stopped in front of a row of flats much like their own one back on Baker street. Lestrade, Donavan and Anderson were all waiting outside.

"Oh great.. Anderson and Sally are here"

"Sherlock be nice"

"Make me"

John shook his head smiling, he didn't particularly like them all that much either. He might like them if they were as nice to Sherlock as they were to himself but that wasn't likely to happened any time soon. Lestrade nodded as the duo walked up to them. "The owners out, but his landlord gave us the key. So you going to tell us what we're here for?"

Sherlock waited for the DI to open the flat before speaking. "A clue. Each clue will lead us to another and a bomb." John nodded and added "But we don't know how many clues or how long we have to find it". Sherlock had already begun to search the house for that one corner. "Most likely only today" replied Sherlock from another room.

"Aha!"

"You found something?"

The entire group ran towards the sound of Sherlocks deep voice. "Yes, the next clue!" John found Sherlock in a study, kneeling on the floor. There was the green wallpaper and burned wood from the photo and nestled on the floor was a jar.

"So what is it, whats the next clue?" Inquired Anderson. Sherlock sighed. "Leave the room Anderson, it can't handle your stupidity." Anderson sputtered and started muttering curses. 'Leave Anderson". "But Sir-!" Lestrade put his hand on the forensic scientists shoulder. "Just go wait outside"

"These bath salts are our next clue" Sherlock stood, the jar in his hand. "Im going to Barts, I need to analyse these, John see what information you can find out about Turkish baths" The detective started to leave.

"Wait! What about the rest of us?"

"You're the DI, its not my job to tell you what to do"

"Coulda fooled me" muttered Lestrade, before motioning to Sally for them to leave. John followed Sherlock out. "Wait how to you know they're turkish?" Sherlock handed him the jar. "Note the design of the jar, its clearly turkish john, so these are authentic, so probably from somewhere expensive, that and the bottom of the jar says Made In Turkey" John rolled his eyes again. "Of course" Sherlock took back the jar.

"There's at least sixteen still running Turkish Baths in London, I need to analyse these salts first, see what information they can tell me. I need you to research and find me a list of the Baths, we may find the next clue at one of them" Sherlock hailed a cab and left, leaving a dumbfounded John.

"Great, Turkish Baths, I have no idea where to even start. Thanks a lot Sherlock"

PING!

John raised his eyebrows glancing at his phone.

_'You're welcome -SH'_

John shook his head and laughed.


	5. Chapter 5

Analysing the salts was tedious work and it yielded very little information. Sherlock sat back and waited for the results. This game, hopefully, was going to be more interesting than his previous cases this , dull, did no one have any cases that were actually stimulating anymore? He blamed Jim, and Anderson, well he blamed everything on Anderson.

BEEP!

That wasn't his phone, it was Jim's...he's sent another message! Sherlock quickly whipped out the phone. Another message addressed to Sexy, Sherlock really wished he'd stop calling him that. He unlocked the phone and opened the message.

_Hey Sexy! Great job on finding the location of the first clue! There'll be 5 in total ;) and don't forget, each one will get harder! You only have till 9pm tonight! xxx Jim_

So I was right! This makes things more challenging, mused Sherlock. Excellent. He checked his watch, it was 8:37 am, still plenty of time. The machine beeped at him, giving him the readouts on the bath salts. Good, great even. This should narrow things down considerably. He took out his own phone and texted his flat mate. He then settled back and waited once more.

_John, meet me at Barts with the information -SH_

* * *

><p>John looked at his meager list and hoped the one they were looking for was one of the ones he'd researched. He took a cab and headed straight for Barts. Sherlock was still looking at the results when John came in. "Find anything?" the doctor inquired, handing the list to Sherlock, who had now opened a small laptop onto the lab table.<p>

"Hey.. is that mine?"

"I need it"

"Then use your own"

"Yours was closer"

John throw up his hands in defeat and looked over his friends shoulder as he quickly typed away on the keyboard. "So you didn't answer me, did you find anything?" Sherlock nodded. "I just need to look something up and then I'll answer you." He continued typing, finally coming to the site he was looking for.

"Here!"

John read the site name. "Hammam Spa Experience, London. Is this where the bath salts are from?" Again Sherlock nodded, grinning. "These salts are rare and expensive in England, they're imported directly from Turkey. According to my research only three hammams, thats Turkish Baths John, only three in London use this particular type. But only one, uses this jar to contain them." Sherlock stood grabbing his coat.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"_We_ are going Kensington, fancy some relaxation John?"


	6. Chapter 6

The ride up was silent, Sherlock tapping away at his phone. "What are you doing?" John tried to lean over to get a better look but Sherlock simply hid his phone. "Making arrangements"

"Arrangements for what?" Sherlock sighed and put his phone back in his coat. "Well I doubt they'll just let us just walk in there and get the salts, so I was making an appointment, I called in a few favours." John smiled.

"Couldn't you get Lestrade to get us a search warrant?"

"Who knows how long that will take, besides the less we see of them the quicker we can find this bomb, anyway, isn't this more fun?" Sherlock grinned at John and poked him to get out of the cab.

"Maybe for you..."

Sherlock chuckled. "It is for you too, you enjoy the thrill of adventure just as much as I do" John smiled back and the two of them shared a laugh before landing at the reception desk.

* * *

><p>John had to admit, this wasn't half bad, the place was certainly relaxing, they'd spent a good hour here already and John felt great. First the spa, then a massage, now a relaxation room. He wondered if Sherlock was enjoying this too or searching for clues.<p>

There was a knock at the door. Before John could answer, it opened to reveal Sherlock in nothing more than a white dressing gown like the one John was wearing. He took the bed next to John.

"You know I could have been naked in here"

"I considered that possibility"

"But you came in anyway"

"What I found was more concerning then your possible nudity"

John laughed nervously and tried to cover everything up with the gown. Sherlock seemed unconcerned. "Well, what did you find then?" Sherlock held up an identical jar to the one they'd found at the flat. "So, its the same, what about the next clue?"

Sherlock grinned and opened one of the jars and pulled out an envelope. "It took me fifteen tries to find the right jar, I nearly got thrown out, but I pretended I was tipsy from the wine they'd left in my relaxation room"

"Of course"

Sherlock opened the envelope, it was a photograph of the inside of a church. There was writing on the back as well. "What's it say?" Sherlock turned it over and read out the message.

_'Nothing except a battle lost can be half as melancholy as a battle won.'_

"Thats it?"

'Thats it"

John turned away from Sherlock, deep in thought, while Sherlock watched, a curious look on his face. "So.. we have to find someone buried at that church then!" Sherlock's look switched to one of surprise. "How do you deduce that?" John laughed. "It's quite simple really, it's like in the Da Vinci Code"

"Oh not that"

"You read it?"

"It was rubbish"

"I thought it was quite good actually, I-"

"Get to the point"

"Well in the book they have to find someone interred at a church, we just need to find out the origin of the quote and we should be able to find the next clue!" Sherlock smiled and clapped his hands. "Excellent John!" John looked very pleased. Sherlock felt slightly annoyed he hadn't figured that one out himself, but it had been a terrible book so he didn't dwell to much on it.

"Is this place set for Wi-Fi?" John shook his head. "Then we need to go back to Baker Street at once" Sherlock stood, John grabbed the photo, something so oddly familiar about this church...of course! Was this how Sherlock felt, when he'd deduced something important? It felt, quite nice, empowering even.

"John?"

"Sherlock I know this place!"

"You do? Where is it?"

"St Paul's Cathedral"

* * *

><p>Sherlock headed back to his room and changed, while John, changing in his own room, was whistling, pleased and in a very good mood. The two of them left, feeling very relaxed. "People will talk". Sherlock glanced up at him from his phone. "About what?" "Us, Turkish Baths.." Oh. "People do little else, I wouldn't worry about it"<p>

"Easy for you to say.."

"What was that?"

"Nothing"


	7. Chapter 7

The traffic slowed them down considerably, as did lunch. By the time they made it to St Paul's Cathedral it was almost 1pm. Something was still on Sherlock's mind though, something important.

"How did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That the photo showed St Paul's"

"Oh, we'll I've been here before, and besides, the photo shows part of a staircase"

Sherlock looked, it did but it didn't seem overly significant. "So?" John grinned. "You really lack knowledge on a lot of popular things don't you Sherlock?". Sherlock sighed, "John...". The two of them entered the building. "Alright, alright, it's from Harry Potter"

"Harry Potter... I think I've heard of it"

"I'd have been very surprised if you hadn't"

"What about it?"

"This staircase was in the movies. Im guessing "Jim" knows about your lack of knowledge on pop culture, but he didn't think about mine!"

Sherlock smiled, John was excited and happy, which always put Sherlock in a good mood. "So now we need to find out who is buried here. Using this quote" John nodded, "Don't you have internet on your phone?" Sherlock nodded "But my battery is running out, don't you?"

The doctor sighed, yeah make me do all the work. He opened his phone, accessing the net quickly and punching in the quote. Which took time, the buttons on this thing were so small and sensitive. Only one name came up, brilliant!

"Well?"

"The Duke of Wellington!"

* * *

><p>The two of them looked at each other and began to run around the interior of the cathedral to find some reference to the Duke. John happened upon someone who gave tours of the cathedral. "Sherlock! He's in the crypt!" A few minutes later and a lot of explaining the duo was on their way down to the tomb of the Duke of Wellington.<p>

It's bloody cold down here, thought John as they made their descent. "Do you think the next clue will be here Sherlock?" Sherlock shrugged. "Lets hope so, it's half-past two, we only have till 9pm" Shit, we better hurry then mate. John spotted the tomb first, the two of them pelting down the corridor, footsteps echoing.

It was a big stone sarcophagus on top of four lions heads. John could see a box nestled between the two. Sherlock had seen it as well and was already in the process of taking it out. The detective had expected an object of some kind like the first clue but it was a simple slip of paper. Another riddle perhaps?

"What is it Sherlock?"

"Just a piece of paper" He turned it over. "It reads, 'I watch all from above', well that could be anything" John paced, while Sherlock sat on the stone floor, thinking. "I watch from above...". John's phone took that moment to ring. The doctor answered it but really wished he hadn't. Even Sherlock could hear the yelling emitting from the little phone.

"Lestrade isn't very happy with us, is he John?"

"Not happy with _you_, you mean, he wants to know why we haven't told him anything and where the hell are we?"

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. "Tell him, for all the good it will do, Im going back to Baker Street to think on this"


	8. Chapter 8

John sat in his armchair, constantly glancing at the time, 4 pm, so only five hours to go and two clues left. Sherlock had mentioned when they got home that the last clue should lead them to the bomb. The man in question was still pacing the room. Several books were strewn across the floor, none of them leading anywhere.

"Think, think think" Sherlock muttered to himself, his mind racing at light speed but still nowhere closer to the truth. A thought suddenly occurred to John. "Hey Sherlock...we have a bomb, a hunt and Moriarty, in London" Sherlock barely acknowledged him. "Whats your point?". "Where's your brother?" Sherlock shrugged, he didn't really know or really care right now.

"Probably starting a war or something, I don't know. Not my problem"

Come on brain, come on.

* * *

><p>A knock at the door, Sherlock knew who it was before it was even opened, Lestrade, with Sally and Anderson. "Anderson get out" He wasted no time. Anderson stood fast so Sherlock turned his back and continued his pacing. "Any luck?" asked Lestrade, John shook his head. "What, the freak can't figure out a simple riddle?" Sherlock glared, Lestrade motioned for her to shush.<p>

The DI moved to sit opposite of John, telling him what they had learnt so far, it wasn't much and most of it wasn't helpful. "The tenant says the package was delivered by some blonde bloke, thats all he knows, he was told not to open it. The man told him to leave the house for awhile"

"Why didn't he go to the police?" Lestrade shrugged, "Got scared I guess, he said it just felt safer to do as he was told." Sherlock clenched his hands. "Shut up, both of you I'm trying to think" Sally scoffed. "What is this stupid riddle anyway, I bet its something really obvious and you're just over thinking it."

"Fine you solve it then" Sherlock threw the box at her, she ducked, so it hit Anderson instead, the detective grinned. "Ow! That hurt you know" The forensic scientist bent down and picked up the box. Donavon retrieved the riddle from him. "I watch from above? Thats the riddle?" Rubbish sort of riddle really. "Yes, now shut up"

"I watch from above..what like the London Eye?"

Everyone in the room stopped what they where doing. Sherlock slowly turned, completely shocked. "Say that again..." Anderson felt slightly nervous, everyone was looking at him. "Well you know I, eye, you can see most of London from the Eye. Eye watch from above... makes sense doesn't it?" Sherlock laughed and clapped his hands. "Of course, it's so simple! So it needed a simple mind to solve it." Anderson brisitled. "Oi!"

" This may be the smartest thing you've ever done Anderson!"

Sherlock was already dressed in his coat and out the door before Anderson could think up a retort. "Hurry up John!" John rushed down the stairs after him. "You slow down! You've got those long legs while I've got...you know normal ones"

"We're so close John, I can feel it! I'm on fire!"

"Well come on now, you've only solved half of them. Let's not get carried away"

"Semantics"

"Yes it always is with you isn't it"


	9. Chapter 9

More traffic, and a line. A long line. "Tourist season" complained Sherlock. John wasn't too fussed. "Come on, we're british, we know how to queue." Famous last words however since they were in that line for what truly felt like forever. Lestrade by now had caught up with them, brandishing his badge at the front and demanding that they close things down so each capsule could be searched.

"You know if you had turned up earlier, things would have been much easier and less time would have been wasted" Sherlock gave another glare to Lestrade, who shrugged. "Traffic" He explained. "Bloody Mycroft". John shook his head at the bickering that followed.

"Thats enough girls, we need to find this next clue."

* * *

><p>It took about forty-five minutes, with Scotland Yard helping. They entered the capsule carefully, to find...nothing. At least thats what John thought. Sherlock was studying the window for some odd reason. "Sherlock?" The detective moved, to reveal writing on the glass.<p>

"Solve her murder..."

There was an address written after it. Lestrade was already phoning people, Sherlock was...damn it, Sherlock had already left the capsule. John ran after the tall man, not wanting to be left behind. Together they took a cab, expecting the others to take their own cars, but John knew Sherlock wasn't even caring what they did. They only got in the way in his mind.

The building was small, abandoned and the body fresh. Sherlock circled her like a vulture, his eyes taking in every tiny detail, every speck of dirt or blood. He knelt, pulling out his magnifying glass, searching the body, then searching her bags. Fifteen minutes later he stood back up, satisfied.

"Well?" Lestrade looked at him, arms folded. "She didn't die here, that much is obvious" Sherlock took a breath as he moved to stand next to John. "How do you know that? Look at the blood spatter!" Anderson rudely interrupted, Sherlock was about to comment until John elbowed him in the ribs.

Wasn't it obvious? Sherlock sighed and moved around the body again. "Her shoes, look at them, they're clean" He knelt and pointed at the soles of her blue shoes. "So what?" "So, it's been raining, theres mud everywhere, especially outside here, but theres no mud on her shoes, so she was not killed here." John raised his eyebrows, it was always so simple. "But the blood spatter.." Sherlock waved a hand over the wall. "Made to look as if she died here, would fool most people, but this isn't human blood, its animal blood."

He squatted next to the body. "She's in her early thirties, just got back from the hairdresser, look at her hair. She's just been to a second hand bookstore after the hairdressers...the books, they're old but in a plastic bag, with a receipt, so she's only just brought them. The receipt..." He pulled it out, but it didn't give an address.

Think, Sherlock, think. The others remained silent. A map sped through Sherlocks head. Hairdressers, near a second hand bookstore... come on, come on. There! He stood back up. "I know where she was killed, come on!" He ran back out of the room.


	10. Chapter 10

Time was running out, they had maybe an hour and a half left, but if Sherlock was right, this was where they'd find the bomb. John spun around. Hairdressers, check, second hand bookstore, check. Sherlock was already running in the direction of a large old builidng. He leaned over, pointing something out.

"Blood, look, its fresh. She was injured here.. then dragged inside!"

The door wasn't even locked, making it easy to go inside. Too easy. Lestrade handed John a torch, the inside of the building almost pitch black. "You sure she was killed here Sherlock?" asked Lestrade, as he sweeped the torch back and forth. "I found her earring by the door, she was missing one". John leaned over to stare at the small piece of jewellery.

"I didn't notice"

"Im not surprised"

Sherlock had begun running into various rooms. Lestrade and the others chased after the tall detective, once the DI had of course informed the other Yarders to sweep the area. "You should wait outside Sherlock, if theres a bomb, its not safe!" But his calls fell on deaf ears, they always did.

* * *

><p>Time continued to count down. John entered the only room that wasn't empty, but still no bomb. There was a TV though. A very large TV screen. John crept closer. The room was empty, the wallpaper torn off, but there was an expensive screen on the wall. Something didn't feel right.<p>

_Hello John_

Plain white words flashed across the screen, making John jump back in surprise and almost trip over his own feet. Shit... Jim was watching them, he had to be. "Sherlock!" He cried out as loud as possible. The doctor didn't even turn around, just kept his eyes on the screen. Lestrade, Sherlock and the others burst into the room, Lestrade with his gun out, Sherlock held... his riding crop for some reason.

Sherlock took a breath and looked at John. "I thought you were in trouble". John was touched but concerned with more pressing matters. He pointed to the screen. But the words were gone. Sherlock walked over, studying every inch of it.

_Hello Sexy_

This time it was Sherlock's turn to jump in surprise. He smiled. "Jim".

_Congrats on finding where she was murdered!_

"Im guessing you can hear us and see us, somehow, but thats not important, wheres the bomb?"

_Oh Sherlock, It's not here, it was never here._

"No, no no! All clues pointed to here! We've solved your puzzle, we found all the clues!"

_Who said I'd ever play fair, my dear?_

Shit, shit shit shit. Lestrade called off the search and waited for more information. John moved next to his friend, who was rapidly becoming more agitated by the second. The words disappeared, replaced by a picture.

"Pall Mall?"

John was confused. Why there? Lestrade began barking new orders down his phone. Sherlock's eyes widened, his face going white. Oh no, this was no accident. Music began to play interrupting all their thoughts.

_It's time to kill the lights and shut the DJ down_

_This place about to!_

_Tonight we're taking over, no one's getting out_

_This place about to blow! Blow!_

_This place about to blow! Blow!_

_This place about to blow! Blow!_

_This place about to blow! Blow!_

John stole a look at Sherlock and was shocked by what he saw. His friend was even paler than before, his hands were shaking. And then he ran. Sherlock had pelted out of the room, faster than he'd ever seen him. The others stood there, confused for a second then rushed after him.

"Sherlock, Sherlock what is it? Why is the bomb in Pall Mall and not here?"

Sherlock turned, still running. "Thats not Pall Mall!" John and Lestrade stole a look at each other. But the image clearly showed Pall Mall. Why would he say that? John decided to humour him.

"Then what is it!"

"The Diogenes Club!"


	11. Chapter 11

Still confused, John climbed into the cab with Sherlock, his hands unable keep still. "DRIVE!" There was a beep, the pink phone flashed a message across its screen.

_'Its 8:45, do you know where Big Brother is?'_

Sherlock yelled at the cabbie again, to drive as fast as possible. The phone started replaying the music from the abandoned building. Nothing either could do would turn it off.

_Now what? We're taking control_

_We get what we want, we do what you don't_

_Dirt and glitter cover the floor_

_We're pretty and sick, we're young and we're bored_

_It's time to lose your mind and let the crazy out_

"Sherlock?"

"What?...no...sorry John, it's not your fault..."

John was growing more and more worried for his friend. "Whats wrong? Whats the Diogenes Club?" Sherlock ran his hand through his hair. "One of the strangest clubs in London. It's hard to explain...it was started by a young man back in his university days. Now days mostly elite men and occasionally, but rarely women use it. Especially business men. Inside you are forbidden to talk, many go I think because its peaceful and relaxing, I've been a few times myself"

John shook his head, something still wasn't right, something had his normally reserved friend on edge. "What aren't you telling me Sherlock?" The detective looked down, one hand clenching itself tightly. "Mycroft, Mycroft started the club, its almost 9pm, he's there.. right now John" Oh no, Mycroft... but he was smart, very smart, John was certain he'd be alright but he now understood. His friend was worried.

He knew Sherlock cared. Sherlock claimed to be a sociopath, some had even stated he may have aspergers. But these people didn't know Sherlock, he was neither, just someone who kept his emotions close to his heart, all bottled inside. He only showed them to John, sometimes Mrs Hudson and rarely but occasionally to their clients. John stared forward and prayed they weren't too late

* * *

><p><em>Go, go, go, go insane, go insane<em>

_Throw some glitter, make it rain on_

_And let me see them hands,_

_Let me, let me see them hands_

A man dressed in white Westwood, wine glass in one hand, remote in the other, danced. Another man, tall and blonde, watched amused from his chair, cleaning his rifle.

* * *

><p>Lestrade had beaten them there, but only by a few minutes. Sherlock bounded out of the car, the phone falling from his coat pocket. John picked it up. It was counting down.<p>

"Where is everyone?"

Lestrade turned to see one very angry Sherlock behind him. "We're trying to get them out, somethings wrong with the doors" Before he'd even finished there was the sound of a window being smashed, people starting to climb out to safety.

Sherlock ran towards an old man. "Mycroft, is he out yet?" The old man shook his head. "Saw something I think, went off to go check it. Haven't heard from him since. It was about ten minutes ago." Sherlock started to run towards the open window. John stared down at the phone, it was beeping.

10

9

8...

"Sherlock, get back! Get back down!" John rushed over, grabbing his friend around his thin waist and tried to pull him away. "Mycroft isn't out yet John!" Im sorry Sherlock, but you're more important right now. He tugged hard, finally pulling his friend away. Lestrade had walked over, helping him restrain the struggling detective.

7

6

5...

"Whats wrong with him?" Lestrade looked confused, glancing at John for help. "Mycroft". Even Sally looked concerned. "Who's Mycroft?" John looked Lestarde straight in the eye. "His brother". Lestrade looked down to stare at Sherlock but he was gone. Sherlock had teared himself away from both of them, running towards the building.

"Sherlock, NO!"

John chased after, his own safety thrown out the window.

4

3

2

1...

and then...

BOOM!

The explosion propelled the both of them back into hard ground. The last thing John remembered before passing out was the pain filled voice of his best friend, crying out for his brother.

"MYCROFT!"


	12. Chapter 12

John must have only been unconscious for a few minutes. When he first awoke the street was like a war zone. Something all too familiar. There was dust and stone everywhere, the building was on fire. Sherlock lay next to him his head bleeding, his leg at an awkward angle. John gave himself a once over. Minor head injury, scrapes and bruises, nothing overly serious.

He crawled over to Sherlock, placing his fingers against his throat, please be alive you idiot, he breathed a sigh of relief when he felt a steady beat. "Sherlock, Sherlock mate you need to wake up now" He patted the side of his friends face, giving a small smile as the detective began to stir. Pale eyes opened, locking on immediately to John.

"John!"

"Ssh, its ok, Im ok, you're... you'll be ok"

Sherlock looked around, wincing and wished he hadn't. "My head" John brushed back to hair, slight wound on the front, his hand moved around to the back. Blood coated his fingertips. Sherlock probably had a concussion too.

John moved back, pulling his friends head off the cold, hard concrete and into his lap. "You need to stay with me, can you do that Sherlock?" Sherlock's eyes were still dazed and confused. But he tried to nod. Hey lay there for a few seconds and then his eyes widened.

"Mycroft!"

He tried to lift himself out of John's lap, with great difficulty, virtually pitching forward and onto his face. "Sherlock!". The detective couldn't stand, his leg was to badly injured for him to do so. "Mycroft!" He kept calling for his brother. It was heart breaking. Lestrade spotted the two of them, running over, a worried look on his face. John tried to pull his detective back.

"Are you two ok?"

"Not really, any word about Mycroft?" Lestrade shook his head. "Im sorry, no one who escaped goes by that name, we're still searching for surviours.. but.. Im sorry it's not looking good." Sherlock's body had given up and was now lying on his side. No... no this can't be happening, this can't be real!

"John...John!"

"I'm here Sherlock"

"Mycroft?" God he sounded so young and innocent.

"...Im sorry Sherlock...I don't know"

He pulled his flatmate against his chest, the man's legs folded awkwardly beside him. "No.. he has to be ok, the idiot, he has to be, John". But John couldn't reassure him, looking at the wreckage, he wasn't able to tell if anyone inside could have survived such a blast. Lestrade began speaking to Sally, who shook her head, tears in her eyes, still staring at Sherlock.

"Sherlock... Im sorry, it looks like -"

"No"

"Sherlock, mate.." Lestrade knelt down to his level. John noted that his flatmate had began to clench at his jumper. "Im sorry" He honestly was. Sherlock was shaking, tears began to well up in his eyes. "You're wrong!...He can't be .. he's not allowed... no...no!" The tears began to fall, a trickle at first but soon they were streaming down his cheeks. He bent his head into John's shoulder, clenching the jumper tighter.

John felt tears sting his own eyes, and wrapped his arms around his friend, rubbing his back and whispering soothing words. He looked over at Lestrade, miming for an ambulance, he could still feel blood seeping down Sherlock's neck.

"Mycroft... no... god no.."

"It'll be ok Sherlock..."

"Sherlock?...Sherlock?"

But his friend wasn't listening anymore. His body had finally given up and Sherlock had slipped back into the unconscious world.


	13. Chapter 13

John paced back and forth in the hospital waiting room. His own arm was now bandaged up, a white patch on his left temple. But he'd refused to stay in a hospital room. Lestrade and the others were also with him. Lestrade was just as worried, he sat on the edge of his chair, his hands folded under his chin. Even Sally looked worried and sad. Was she worried about Sherlock or did she feel bad for thinking he was an emotionless bastard?

John couldn't begin to imagine what his friend was going to go through, once he woke up. It was clear he was close to very few people. Particularly his own family. Mycroft was someone who understood him, who was like him. Had the same abilities. Now it was looking like he was to be all alone, but John promised he would be there for him.

"Doctor Watson?"

John stoped his pacing, walking straight up to the blonde woman. "Is he ok?" She nodded, glancing at her clipboard. "At the moment, I'm afraid he's still unconscious, but I'll let you know as soon as we know more" John felt the urge to hit something, preferably someone in Westwood.

"Can I see him?" She shook her head. "Only family" John's face fell. "But... he may not have any anymore..." Sighing the doctor relented, taking pity on the ex-solider. "Ok, but only for five minutes" John was already gone before her sentence had finished.

* * *

><p>The room was dark, his best friend lay on a bed in the middle of the room. He was as pale as the sheet, if not for the monitor John might have thought him...dead. Sherlock had a bandage around his head, several cuts and bruises were visible on his skin. Both arms were on the top of the blue hospital blanket. One bandaged, the other bruised but whole.<p>

John took the seat waiting near the bed. He dragged it until it was next to Sherlock. He sat, taking his friends hand in his own. "Sherlock? If you can hear me, you stubborn bastard, you need to wake up. I know... right now you probably don't want to, but there are people here who care about you very much.. so please... please just wake up" John felt tears sting his eyes again. He had to wake up. John wasn't sure what he'd do if he didn't.

* * *

><p>Little feet pounded against the cold floor, running into every room in the very large manor. They tripped, the young owner crying out. A boy, about ten years old looked up from his book. "Sherlock?"<p>

A curly head raised their eyes up to the child now next to him. "Myky, Myky!" His little lips quivered, his eyes welling up with tears. The toddler raised his arms up to the figure above him. "Oh 'lockie, I told you to be careful" Mycroft bundled up the child in his arms and sat him on the couch.

"It's just a scratch 'lockie"

"But it 'urts Myky!"

Mycroft smiled and procured a bandaid for his little brothers knee. "Next time, hit the brakes? Don't run so fast, what were you doing anyway little brother?" He sat down next to him, the little toddler hugging his side.

"Chasing the bad guys Myky"

Mycroft laughed. Sherlock pouted. "Ok, I was looking for you" He had quite the vocaularly for a three year old but after all he was a Holmes. "Well, you found me" The little boy smiled happily.

"Read to me?"

"Alright, what book?"

"The Lost World!"

Mycroft gave another laugh. "And who wrote that? Come on 'lockie, you know this" Sherlock put a finger to his lips in thought. "Arfur Cone Doil!" The taller Holmes shook his head, deeply amused.

"Close enough little brother, close enough."


	14. Chapter 14

Five years old now, Sherlock was happily experimenting with various objects. He'd received a chemistry set for his fifth birthday and he was ecstatic. His older brother was less than impressed. One of Sherlock's concoctions and spilled all over his umbrella, and it was pouring outside.

Mycroft wouldn't have minded, he habitually experimented himself. But today he had school. Not able to find a quick replacement he was forced to go to school in the pouring rain, coming home completely soaked and getting a dreadful cold. He was bed-ridden for a week.

There was a knock on the door. "Myky?" A worried face poked around the side. "What do you want?" grumbled the suffering the 12 year old. The boy opened the door, creeping cautiously inside.

"Im sorry Myky..." He honestly looked very remorseful. "I got you a present...to make up for it" Mycroft was in a mind to refuse, but his little brother looked so sad.

"Fine, what is it?"

Sherlock ran out of the room and came back with a rectangular package. He placed it on the bed and left the room in a hurry. But he watched from around the edge of the door. Mycroft tore open the packaging. It was a brand new umbrella.

Not a child's one like his old one but a proper adult umbrella, with a beautiful wooden handle. Sherlock must have spent his entire allowance on this gift. Mycroft smiled, hugging the thoughtful gift to his chest.

* * *

><p>John had barely left Sherlock's room all night. He still sat in the same hard, hospital chair, a mug of tea in his hands. Lestrade had been in a few times, even Sally and Anderson. John had been shocked by the looks on the faces of the latter two. It was almost as if they cared.<p>

The doctor turned his gaze back to the man on the bed. He'd have hoped he'd be awake by now. It was well into the early morning. John placed his mug on the small bedside table.

"Sherlock? I wish I could tell you things are going to be ok, but...I know you wouldn't want me to lie. Just..just please do me a favour, please just wake up mate...please" I can't handle this without you Sherlock...

* * *

><p>"Sherlock, this is simply childish, you can not continue living this way. I will not allow it. You must listen to reason!"<p>

Sherlock leaned back on the torn, moth eaten chair, the drugs already affecting his mind. A face swam into view, an arm on either side of him. "Sherlock?" Mycroft slapped his face. "Sherlock, you will ruin your mind this way! Mummy and Father may be too busy to care, but I bloody well am not!"

This was't right, Mycroft knew part of the reason, why Sherlock had turned to drugs, it was't easy being different, being able to do something no one else can. People can be so cruel. And the two of them, got incredibly bored with nothing to occupy their minds. Mycroft turned to various intellectual pursuits, Sherlock had turned to drugs.

"Piss off Mycroft"

"Sherlock! As your brother, I am begging you to stop this, do you want to destroy your mind? Destroy the unique gifts we both share?" Sherlock rolled his head in Mycrofts direction. Sometimes he wished he didn't have this stupid ability, it only caused him pain.

"I'm bored Mycroft"

"You think I don't get bored? I order you to stop this now!" Please.. you're my only little brother.

"You're being over dramatic about this."

"Im sorry Sherlock but you leave me no choice, you are an addict and Im not going to sit around and let you destroy yourself. Im sending you to rehab" He opened his phone, sending a quick message to his assistant..whatever her name was.

"You wouldn't dare..."

"Watch me"


	15. Chapter 15

It ended up working. Sherlock's body felt great, but now his mind had nothing to fall back on. Nothing to keep it occupied. The world was so mind numbingly dull.

"I see you're solving crimes now Sherlock, how public spirited of you! Though I doubt thats your motivation. At least you're no longer stimulating your mind with drugs" His brother shifted uncomfortably. "Sherlock!" The younger Holmes sighed and pulled back his sleeve, revealing two nicotine patches. "Don't get your knickers in a knot Mycroft" he sniped.

Mycroft grabbed his brother's arm, inspecting both for needle marks. There weren't any. "Happy?" Sherlock pulled his brothers hands away from his own. "You used to be so trusting Mycroft" He picked up his violin from the floor, strumming a few chords.

"You lost that trust when you turned to drugs little brother"

"How sad" See how much I care?

"You should continue this Sherlock, this.. detective idea of yours. Its funny, as a child you wanted to fight crime, now you are" He seemed amused by the idea but in reality was hoping that his little brother had finally found his niche in life. Mycroft had created his own job, perhaps his brother would as well.

"Go away Mycroft, obstruct traffic or something"

Mycroft turned to leave, his umbrella twirling. "Where did things go wrong Sherlock? We used to be so close" He genuinelly wanted to know, he missed it. People change, Sherlock went from happy little boy to brooding teenager to lonely young adult. It saddened Mycroft, but he had to know why they were no longer as close as they once were.

Sherlock met his eyes.

"You left"

* * *

><p>John had fallen asleep, his head lolling to the side, resting against the bed. At some point Lestrade had draped Sherlocks long coat over the sleeping body of Dr Watson. Poor bloke, the man had exhausted himself, waiting for his best friend to wake up. And he bloody well better, he was well on the way to becoming a good man. Lestrade had seen the changes, the emotional side that John brought out.<p>

Lestrade could only hope that Sherlock would't retreat back to the emotionless being he had tried to be before John. Yes tried, Lestrade didn't miss those sorts of details. Whatever Sherlock thought of his abilities. He patted the detectives battered hand.

"Wake up mate, we need you"

* * *

><p>"I approve"<p>

"I don't need your approval"

"He seems a very nice man, ex solider and a doctor, how marvellous"

"Are you here for a reason? Or just to flirt with my new flatmate"

Mycroft gave his trademark smile, to anyone but Sherlock, and later John, it would seem perfectly ordinary. But that smile could mean any number of things. "He's a perfect flatmate for you, a perfect friend even"

"I don't have friends"

"You used too, before you closed yourself off" Because they kept hurting you.

"John's not my friend, even corrected my usage of the term. So... you're wrong!" He gloated, only for a few seconds. Mycroft kept smiling, so Sherlock's pleased expression turned back into a glare.

"I see all, he followed you to a crime scene, he's still your flatmate, he understands you Sherlock. In here" He poked his brother's chest with his umbrella. Sherlock pushed it away. "The two of you are like the two sides of a coin. Doctor Watson, a man of action, brave, the ex solider who craves the thrill of adventure. And you dear brother, also a man of action, who also lives off adventure. You gave John back the colour in his life and in return he's given you stability and the offer of friendship."

Mycrofts face turned to a sterner expression. "I know you enjoy his company, don't ruin this Sherlock. You two need each other. Do not, push him away." He stood back up, he'd been leaning over his brother.

"It's mummy's birthday tomorrow Sherlock, I expect you to be there. You have no excuses"

"Piss off Mycroft"

His older brother went back to smiling. You can do this Sherlock, I can't be the one you turn to anymore, we've pushed each other too much. But John, give him what you used to give me. Loyalty, friendship, love. Be his brother Sherlock...


	16. Chapter 16

John yawned, sunlight was streaming through the windows, giving Sherlock an almost angelic glow. He glanced at the monitor, still the same. Come on Sherlock, stop being so lazy and wake up! Can't you listen to me, just this once!

A finger twitched, bringing John back to reality. "Sherlock?" Please, come on mate. It twitched again. John shouted for a nurse, grabbing the moving hand. "Sherlock, follow my voice, come on Sherlock!"

Two pale, confused eyes opened. John stood, bringing his face into view. "Sherlock!". The detective blinked several times. "Mycroft?" Tears stung John's eyes again. "No mate, sorry It's just John".

John...it was just a dream. Tell me it was just a dream. Tell me Mycroft really isn't really...no. He can't be dead! "John?" His hand quested for his friends own, gripping it tightly. John smiled, his tears falling down his face.

"Welcome back Sherlock"

* * *

><p>John had thought, things would start to get better once Sherlock had awoken. That things might start to heal. But Sherlock had virtually shut down, once he'd realised what had happened. Now instead of working on ways to get Moriarty like he usually did, he was just sitting, propped up with pillows, staring at the window.<p>

The doctor had said that the detective just needed time to himself, to deal with what had happened, but John knew better. This was Sherlock withdrawing into himself. This was Sherlock with his heart broken. This was the little boy inside who long ago adored his older brother and was now faced with a reality without him, without his constant protection.

John would have rather Sherlock get angry, throw something, shoot something. Anything but this silence. Sherlock could go for hours, even days without talking, but it was not like this. He didn't even acknowledged his friend. He just kept staring. And it scared John.

It scared him so very much. Sherlock better come to his senses soon. "Sherlock...I know you're listening to me, theres nothing wrong with your head, they checked. You're worrying me Sherlock, hell, you're scaring me. Snap out of this mate... your... your brother wouldn't want this..."

* * *

><p>What scared John the most was the thought that he may never come back. That this...incident, this accident, had finally broken his detective. The thought that he may be forever locked up in his mind, behind those pale eyes, shook him to the core. How would he go on, without Sherlock? He'd changed everything in his life, he'd brought back the spark, that sense of colour that he thought he'd lost on the battlefield.<p>

His best friend wasn't on this bed or in this room. All that was here was his shell. Where his mind had gone, John couldn't fathom, he only hope that his consulting detective would be able to find his way back, that he would want to come back. John made the decision then and there, to look after him whether he did or not. Sherlock had no one else now, just John and John was determined to not be another brother who left Sherlock all alone. He'd be there for him no matter what.

Just come back to me Sherlock...


	17. Chapter 17

John had had enough of this. Granted he knew Sherlock was grieving but he was worried that he may stay like this. That he may never come back to him. He sat on the edge of the bed, turning Sherlock's face to face his own. It was if he was looking straight through him. John felt something drop in his chest.

He gribbed the thin face tightly. "Thats enough, you can't keep doing this. I thought I'd got you back Sherlock. Instead you're.. I don't know where you are right now. I know damn well you can hear me though" He was almost out of tears by now. "You have to come back ok? You can't keep shutting me out. You're my best friend Sherlock. Please... don't do this, don't let that bastard win"

John eyes had fallen to Sherlock's chest so he was unable to see the now pale, watery eyes. "You lost your brother Sherlock... I don't want to lose mine too". Oh John, John I'm so sorry. Sherlock had simply ignored everyone and everything since he'd awoken. Not wanting to believe his brother was gone. He knew his head injury and pain medication was partly to blame, but he'd lost himself in his own memories, thinking of better times. Remembering his brother, his constant protector.

But in doing so, he'd shut out John, the brother of his heart. So Sherlock wept. "Sherlock?" John grasped his shoulder's. "J-John.. I'm sorry... I" John didn't let him finish, he just wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. "Don't scare me like that again you idiot" Sherlock sobbed into his shoulder.

"He's gone John... he left me.. again"

Nothing John could see would ease the pain, the grief his friend was feeling. So he just held him, rocking him back and forth, rubbing his flatmates back while he cried into his shirt. "He p-promised he'd always be there...oh John!" For the thousandth time this week, John silently cursed Jim Moriarty.

* * *

><p>Lestrade began the long walk, down the hospital corridors. He didn't know why he kept coming back here. He wasn't even sure what condition he'd find the detective in this time. John had messaged him to say he was awake but unresponsive awhile ago. That alone at scared the DI. Was his mind affected? Or his heart? He only hoped it was something they could fix.<p>

He still couldn't understand why Donavan and Anderson had insisted on following him here. "You don't even like Sherlock" Donavan shifted uncomfortably, staring at everything but Lestrade, Anderson suddenly found his feet fascinating. "Guys?"

"Well... I don't know, need to make sure the Freak is ok"

"You're actually worried about him"

Sally got the courage to look up. "Look, he may be a jerk and a freak. But he's our freak. Only we're allowed to hurt him. Not this whack job. I just want to make sure...that...that he's still our freak. Ok?" You are worried about him. "I see, of course, don't worry, I promise I wont let anyone know you care". Lestrade waited for Anderson's reply.

"What? Oh, well what she said, fat lot of good he'll be to us if he's in his own little world. He may be a bastard, but Sally's right, he's ours." Lestrade gave the tiniest of smiles and began to continue walking. They do care Sherlock, whether you believe it or not, you've actually got them to care about you. I just hope you're going to be ok. Or there'll be hell to pay, mate.


	18. Chapter 18

Lestrade paused by the door. He could see through the window, the two men hugging each other tightly. He didn't really want to disturb them, so he waited for a moment and then gave the door a quick knock. He expected when he opened the door, that the two of them would break apart, perhaps embarrassed. Maybe a week ago they would have. But right now neither seemed to want to let the other go.

John turned around slightly, his arms still around Sherlock. His friend needed this comfort, he wasn't going to take it away from him right now. Lestrade or no Lestrade. And Sherlock, Sherlock refused to let go. He'd lost one brother, he wasn't letting this one out of his sight.

The DI coughed awkwardly, motioning for the two behind him to wait. John gave him a nod. "How are you?" Sherlock rested his head against John's shoulder, his eyes red. "How do you think?" He sneered, though his voice was hoarse and it wavered. Ever so slightly, as if it was through sheer will that he was holding himself together. Which it probably was. "Any word?" John mouthed. Lestrade shook his head. "I know what you're doing" mumbled the detective.

"Look Sherlock... I'm sorry..."

"Don't be, no ones fault but my own" His arms wrapped around John, tightened. Oh mate, it ain't your fault, how could you think that? "It's not your fault Sherlock" The detective shook his head. "I screwed up, John, I should have realised."

"Theres no way you could have known..." But Sherlock refused to listen. In his mind this was his fault. He must have missed something, in his current condition it hadn't occurred to him that there was nothing he would have been able to do.

Lestrade scuffed his foot against the floor. "Well, I just came to check how you were, I'm please that you're...um...back with us". Sherlock nodded and went back to ignoring him. "John" He gave the doctor a nod and left.

* * *

><p>"Are you ok though, Sherlock?" I know its a stupid question.<p>

"No" I don't know if I ever will be.

"Ok, but you will be. I promise I won't leave you Sherlock" I'll be here for you.

Sherlock began to sob once more, clenching the doctors shirt. "When will the pain stop John?" John held him, rocking the taller man as he had earlier. "I don't know Sherlock..." Im not sure it will. "Make it stop,...please" Sherlock...I wish I could, I'd do anything to make it stop. He rubbed his friends back and cried with him. He grieved for his friends loss and for his friend, who was loosing himself.

* * *

><p>Deep within the rubble of the Diogenes club, something stirred...<p> 


	19. Chapter 19

John was relieved to be back in Baker Street, Sherlock should really still be in hospital, he'd only been in there a few days, but John had managed to persuade his doctor that he'd get better faster, in more familiar surroundings. Plus he knew how much Sherlock hated hospitals. The detective didn't mean to get himself into trouble, well ok sometimes he did, but John was always there to patch him up. Because hospital visits were a nightmare.

The man in question was curled up, in his pyjamas and dressing gown, on the couch, his back to John. They'd been home since this morning, it was now late afternoon and Sherlock still wouldn't eat. He hadn't eaten the hospital food either, but that was more a personal preference. John prodded his friend with one of the crutches. "You have to eat Sherlock." His friend shook his head. "Not hungry." John sighed and went into the kitchen. He was going to eat whether he liked it or not. He was too bloody thin.

John came back with tea and scrambled eggs on toast. "Look, just eat something, here.." Sherlock had turned around at the smell, so John had pushed the plate into his hands and pulled him in a sitting position. The detective ate half-heartedly and extremely slowly, but at least he was eating something. John sat down next to him with his own cup of tea. "How's your head?" Sherlock shrugged, it still hurt, that was why he still had a bandage circling it.

"I'll take a look after you're done eating." He nodded, sipping his own cup of tea. Another awkward silence followed.

* * *

><p>There was a knock at the door. John stood, Sherlock didn't even take notice. The doctor opened the door, it was Mrs Hudson. "John, look at you dear" She ran her fingers across the bruises on his face and tutted.<p>

She had two bags of groceries with her and made her way to the kitchen, talking as she did. "Thought i'd get your shopping for you, seeing as you haven't had time lately." She began to put them away, John immediately offering to help.

"No no, dear, you sit down and finish your tea." She finished putting the last away and moved back towards her tenants. "I'll make you something nice for dinner, how about that?" She gave them a sad smile and moved to sit next to Sherlock.

"How are you dear? Oh, look at you..." Tears fell from her eyes and she pulled Sherlock into a strong hug. He let her, he had so few people he was close to now and hugged her back. "We're here for you dear. Everything's going to be ok."

She pulled away, wiping her eyes, confused at the sound of a doorbell. "You two boys wait right there, I'll go answer that"


	20. Chapter 20

The visitor had already made their way up the seventeen steps and pushed open the door. "Anthea" Breathed John, she was the last person he expected. Sherlock brought his head up immediately. "What are you doing here"

Where were you, why weren't you watching? He paused, taking in her appearance. Her clothing was awry, as was her hair. Her eyes were red and there were tear tracks mingled with mascara on her cheeks. She was all in black. She was mourning...

John stood, fetching her some tissues and limping her over to one of the armchairs, turning it so it would face the couch. "Thank you" It was odd to see her, without her phone, to see her actually looking at them. "I came to see how you were" She blew her nose.

"I'm fine"

She stared at him, anyone with half a brain could see he was anything but fine. "We had a late night meeting scheduled after the Diogenes club... I was waiting at his flat when I heard the blast...I couldn't believe it" John had left to fetch her something to drink. "Thank you" she replied again. John took his place next to Sherlock.

She took out her phone. "I got this, just before it blew" Anthea handed it to John, who handed it to Sherlock. "What is it?" He asked without looking at it. "H-he sent me a message but some of it was to you, I don't think he had time to write another and send it to you personally..." Sherlock turned on the phone and opened the message.

_Anthea,_

_I believe there may be a bomb in this building. Have sounded alarm, believe a blonde man in M's employ delivered it. May not make it out in time. You know the protocol, follow it exactly, find M's man...thank you for working with me, and tell my brother...tell him I love him._

_Mycroft_

Sherlock took a breath, blinking back tears. "He knew, he went to look. The idiot why didn't he leave...because he's a Holmes. I'd go look." He answered his own question, forgetting there was anyone else in the room. "What's the protocol?". Anthea wiped her eyes again. "Use the facial recognition software on the CCTV footage, we have a list of people who may be in Moriarty's employ. The club has cameras just like everywhere else. We, myself and the others working...who worked for your brother have to try and track down this bomber."

Sherlock placed the phone on the coffee table and brought his hands under his chin. "Lestrade said a blonde man delivered the clue in Montague Street. This is someone Jim trusts completely...someone he doesn't mind seeing his face or hearing his voice. John, remember the pool, someone else was holding the rifle. He trusted this person, he had to, he was the same person who killed all those other people. We have to find this man, he will lead us to Moriarty Im certain"

John was pleased that Sherlock was beginning to seem like his old self but it was too soon for him to start rushing into things just yet. "I'll tell Lestrade later ok? You need rest and relaxation before we go running off half-cocked." "But this man killed my brother!" John sighed, leaning over.

"I know Sherlock, ok? I know but neither of us are in any condition to do anything right now. I'll tell Lestrade and he can work together with Anthea ok? Is that ok?" He directed the last question at Mycroft's assistant. She nodded.

"Anything to take this man down."


	21. Chapter 21

Sherlock sat at the end of the table, eating as slowly as he had before. John sat on one side, Anthea and Lestrade the other, Mrs Hudson sat at the other end of the table. They all ate in silence. The meal was delicious but Sherlock had other things on his mind, like finding this man and beating him to a bloody pulp. He'd always considered himself a pacifist, certainly not a violent man, but hurt someone close to him and there would be hell to pay. This man had killed his brother and nothing was going to get in his way.

"Thank you Mrs Hudson that was delicious" Praised John, Lestrade and Anthea nodding their agreement. Lestrade had turned up as soon as John had messaged him, which he only had known to stop Sherlock pestering him to so. The DI left the kitchen with Anthea, the two deep in conversation, Sherlock remained at the table, still thinking. He was begging to accept that his brother wasn't coming back. But part of him was still trying to think of ways he could have survived.

Surely, someone as smart as Mycroft would have found a way. No, no, I have to accept he's gone.. even if it were possible, how would he have survived? I saw the wreckage, theres no way..."Sherlock?" He shook his head, clearing it. "You alright mate?" He nodded, giving John half a smile, who matched it. "Just thinking John... Just thinking"

Just maybe...

* * *

><p>A few days ago...<p>

* * *

><p>A tall figure poked at the light switch with the broken arm of a chair, turning it on. It swung dangerously from side to side. He could hear the sounds of broken stone and unstable structures above him. He was safe for now, he had everything he needed to survive the next few days... but he was badly injured and worried he may not make it that long.<p>

He pulled out his phone but it was too badly damaged. He leaned against the wall, nursing his side and prayed someone would find him soon and then he realised, no one knew of this place but him...except maybe one person.

"Find me Sherlock.."


	22. Chapter 22

Two day's later and it had almost been a week since...the explosion. Sherlock by now had given up any hope that his brother could have survived the blast. He rested against the cane he was now forced to use until he got better. He'd allowed himself that small sliver of hope, because he knew if he believed it whole heartedly, then his heart would be broken to pieces once more, when he found out he was wrong.

John hovered by his side, trying to fix the stitches Sherlock had accidentally pulled out in his sleep the night before. His poor friend had not had a peaceful nights sleep since they'd returned home. And it was all John could do to not cry himself, when he heard his friends anguished cries the night before.

John had been asleep himself at the time and was awoken by the sound of yelling. Panicking he'd grabbed his gun and rushed from his room, only to find Sherlock tossing in his bed, crying out for Mycroft and yelling in at least two languages at Jim and then he'd sobbed, cradling his pillow and sobbing into his sheet. The doctor had wasted no time in sitting on the bed and hugging his friend until he stopped crying. He'd even fallen asleep there. The two of them had held each other tightly as they slept.

And it had been during those tossing moments that Sherlock had reopened his stitches. So John was now trying to fix them, if only his friend would lean over or sit down, he was so bloody tall. Satisfied with his work he then examined the bandage on his arm, the wound was healing nicely. He was pleased with his friends progress.

* * *

><p>They'd already talked about scheduling the funeral. Sherlock wanted no part of it. It was too painful for him to think about, so John had done it for him, it was to be tomorrow. Some small part of him hoped he would move on soon, when he was healed, he hoped he would go back to his work, he needed it. John knew that much and it would be a distraction. The other part of him worried that he may never see that smile of his again. Most people never saw it, John was privileged to be one of the lucky few.<p>

"Sherlock?" Mate, look at me.

"No John" Don't ask me John, please.

"You don;t even know what I was going to say" Of course you do, you always do.

"You wanted to talk to be about the funeral, I said I wanted no part of it" I can't handle it, it would be all to real. Don't make me John.

"Sherlock...not even to say a few words? You are going though, you have too" It'll help Sherlock..

"What would I say? The last time we spoke together it was to share insults... it's been a long time since we were ever truly close." A very long time.

"Still, Im sure he'd want you too"...he knew you cared mate.

"Im sure he would" Just to watch me squirm...oh Mycroft...I miss you so much, you bastard.

John pulled his friend down to the couch.

"Tell me about him"


	23. Chapter 23

A few days ago...

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><p>The bunker was moderately sized and liveable for a few days. If he lived that long. It had several beds, bathroom facilities, food and the most important thing, at least in his mind, a first aid kit. He'd used it immediately to bandage his side, thigh and shoulder. He knew he probably had a head wound as well, it would explain his occasional confusion. His new suit was completely ruined, though that was not really important, just terribly annoying. It was painful to stand, making travel towards the food and drink incredibly difficult. He hoped someone found him soon, or that he would be able to escape this..tomb himself. Though that was looking increasingly unlikely.<p>

He lay on one of the bunks, resting his leg on a pillow. It probably was not a good idea to sleep right now, but the movement outside had ceased, his pocket watch told him it was night. In the morning, he would try and make himself heard.

* * *

><p>Present Day...<p>

* * *

><p>The funeral was packed, not that John was surprised when you considered Mycrofts occupation in the government, minor indeed. Everyone seemed elegantly dressed compared to himself. Everything seemed elegant. Even the empty coffin. John himself sat with the Holmes family, Sherlock had insisted. He did not want his mother crying on his shoulder, so had placed John in between himself and her. It was cold, but John suspected it was out of his own grief that he did so. So now John had Mrs Holmes crying all over his jacket.<p>

Many people spoke about Mycroft, mostly collegues, one ex-lover, even Anthea spoke. Sherlock was still unsure if he should say anything or not. After all... what would he say? Anything he said would be something he'd rather keep private, even from all his family. But John was right, talking about his brother could help ease the pain. The podium was empty now, John looked over at Sherlock and nodded, holding his hand in reassurance for a few seconds. Sherlock took a breath, stood and made his way to the front. What to say, what to say...

He stood now in front of everyone, suddenly frozen. A memory from earlier slipped into his mind, making him smile ever so slightly.

"Mycroft...was someone who had always been there for me. Even as a child. When I was growing up I always looked up to him, he read to me, played games with me, taught me so many things. I...loved him with all my heart..." His voice broke, dammit Mycroft look at what you are making me do! You're making me express my feelings, I hope you're happy!

"Without him I would not be the man I am today. He has helped me through the most difficult periods of my life and been with me during my best...I'll miss him very much.. I just wish I'd told him how much he means to me...just once.." He couldn't go on from there, his hand reaching his face, trying to hide his tears. John must have followed him, because he now felt his arms around him, leading him from the podium and back to his seat.

Everything after that seemed a blur. He felt so numb


	24. Chapter 24

John and Sherlock held their own small wake in 221b. With John moving about, talking to people, getting drinks. And Sherlock, sitting alone in his chair, ignoring everyone. His mother had handed him an old photo album, before returning home. It was filled with pictures of him and Mycroft. Here was Mycroft holding his baby brother for the first time. A tear in his eye and a proud smile on his face. Another photo showed the two of them on the couch. Sherlock had curly hair even then. The two sat side by side, Mycroft reading him Jules Verne, Sherlock listening intently, but his eyes on his brother not the book.

Sherlock turned the page. His first day of school, how he hated school, so mind numbingly dull and the children had all teased him because of his intelligence and abilities that even then he had. Mycroft had his arm around him, teasing him about something. They both looked so young...

"Whats that?"

Sherlock jumped, slamming the book shut. "You startled me John..." John took his chair opposite Sherlocks. He held out a cup of tea. "Sorry mate, just... worried about you thats all" Sherlock took the drink gratefully, resting the book on his lap. "I have nothing to say to these people, I wish they'd just leave" John patted his knee and glanced at the book. "May I?" Sherlock shrugged, he might as well. Mother had already tried to force down pictures of little Sherlock the last time they'd visited.

"You two were adorable" Muttered John, giving a small laugh at one of the more amusing photos. It showed teenaged Sherlock, pouting and broody and Mycroft, looking every bit the gentlemen, except for the fact he was poking the corners of Sherlock's mouth trying to make him smile. Sherlock the elder smiled at this memory. Mycroft had forever been trying to make him smile back then. It was sad now, when he thought about it. Always looking out for him.

"Do you think he suffered John..."

"What?...No... I think it would have been instant, I don't think he would have felt anything Sherlock"

"Thats... something reassuring I guess..."

"Yeah.."

A few days ago...

He screamed, yelled at the top of his lungs for help. It seemed as if no one would ever hear his voice.. until he heard the machinery stop. Please, please, please.

"I think we got a live one down here!"

Oh thank god. He continued to shout until he was hoarse and until he could see clearly his rescuers face. And then he fell into oblivion, utterly exhausted.


	25. Chapter 25

Another week had passed. Sherlock was slowly getting used to the fact his brother was gone, never coming back. For a small while he had considered turning back to drugs, but John, ever faithful John was there to make sure this did not happen. Lestrade had even sent over some cold cases so his mind was occupied, distracted. Most however were easily solved, though one or two had needed a trip to St Barts.

He was still using the cane, but not for much longer. His leg was much better, to his relieved friend. John still hovered around him, like a cautious bee. He was there to make sure Sherlock ate, to make sure he slept, to make sure he was alright. All the things he normally did, it just seemed to mean more now. What would he do without John? Sherlock knew he was so lucky to have him in his life, he never truly realised just how much until now.

Sherlock sat, his knees brought up to his chest, staring at the file on the table, still deep in thought. It was an average case, but Scotland Yard had not been able to find the murderer. Sherlock was close though, it was still dull, boring, average. Would he ever regain that spark again?

* * *

><p>A few days ago...<p>

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure just how long he'd been in hospital for. He'd given them a false name. He worried that Moriarty might still be keeping tabs on those rescued. For safety reasons he used an alias, borrowed from a random list of names, Robert Adair. In his current, vulnerable state it was best he stay undercover until he was certain of his own safety.<p>

His injuries, he had concluded, consisted of a head injury, burns, however not serious, a broken wrist and broken leg. Plus numerous cuts and bruises. And one rather serious wound on his side.

He sighed, picking up one of the papers the nurses had been kind enough to leave him. There was a few articles on the bombing. His name was mentioned...they thought him dead..well that had partly been his plan, but it was still a surprise to see his name in the list of the dead. There had been a few survivors, from before and after the bombing, that was pleasing to see.

He turned to the obituaries, shocked to see several for himself. One from his mother, others from friends and colleagues, a few were using aliases, for obvious reasons, it should not be known just how high up his connections were. But there was one that caught his eye.

_To the wisest man we ever knew,_

_You will be sorely missed._

_221B_


	26. Chapter 26

He prodded Sherlock with his foot. "Eat, come on, it's good!" Sherlock gave him a dubious look but did as he was told. "Do you think we should go on vacation or something? Might be nice" Was John saying he wanted to leave? For a split second Sherlock panicked.

"You want to go away..?" ...Have I done something wrong?

"Yeah, change of scenery might be nice.."

"...I expect you'd want to visit your sister too" Please don't leave.

"Yeah I haven't seen her in awhile, she wanted to come down but wasn't able too"

"I see...well.. by all means, if you feel thats best. It's getting colder here, perhaps some place warm?"...you really intend to leave don't you?

"Yeah, somewhere warmer would be good! Maybe somewhere with a beach perhaps..."

Sherlock nodded, sipping his drink and finishing his food. "Fine, go then, I don't care..". John looked confused. Did he think... oh the bloody idiot. No thats not what I meant!

"You're an idiot."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Im not going on vacation by myself, you're coming with me"

"You...what?"

John shook his head, a small smile on his lips. "Like Im leaving you alone, after all thats happened. No you are coming with me, where I can keep an eye on you". Oh..Im stupid aren't I John. I should have realised...he understood if John didn't want to be around him, especially right now, he was hardly good company.

"Oh.. you..together ?"

"Yes Sherlock, we both need some fresh air, you especially"

"Well.. I suppose...yes I'd like that, I haven't been on vacation...well in years I suppose"

"Then it's settled" John finished his meal and what Sherlock had left over. "Ill take a look on the internet when we get home, you don't mind if me visiting Harry though do you?" Sherlock shook his head, John should spend as much time with his sister as he could, Sherlock only wished he had done the same with his own sibling. Now it was too late. He'd never get that chance again.

Together they left the little restaurant.


	27. Chapter 27

A few days ago...

* * *

><p>He was doing much better now, there was talk of him being able to leave soon. Something he looked forward. He knew that his flat would still be as he left it. Too many classified items to be catalogued, too much paperwork, he was sure it would still be there when he was discharged. He had considered, several times, contacting someone to let them know he was alive, but he felt far too weak and still worried that Moriarty would be watching. It was still to dangerous in his current condition. Best to be safe. His thoughts turned to his family. Mother would no doubt have gone to visit relatives and Sherlock...who knew with Sherlock, without being able to use the CCTV footage to keep tabs on him, he had no idea what he'd be doing. Anthea had been telling him a few hours before the blast what he'd been doing. He only hoped he was safe now.<p>

* * *

><p>"John..."<p>

"Sherlock..."

"I received this message from Anthea.. she wants me to take a look around Mycrofts flat.. for anything that myself or my mother may want to keep.." Should I go?

"Oh...do you want me to come with you?"

"Please"

"Alright then"

John stood, helping up his friend. This was going to be hard on him, so there was no way he'd let him go through this pain alone. They hailed a cab and made their way over. John was surprised by the location of his flat. Right in Pall Mall. "He lives here...?" Sherlock nodded. From the car window he could see in the distance, the ruins of the Diogenes Club, oh Sherlock, don't look.

The cab slid to a halt. Sherlock stepped outside, using his cane, he made his way up the footpath to the his brother's building. Anthea was waiting outside. She gave them a little smile, it didn't quite reach her eyes and then she opened the door. It took a flight of stairs, which Sherlock had difficulty with, before they found themselves at Mycrofts front door.

It was a beautiful flat, well looked after, it looked expensive too. It suited Mycroft. John paced the living room, looking at the few photos on the mantlepiece. One was of Sherlock and Mycroft, it was the same one he'd seen earlier in the photo album. Sherlock had limped through every room. Why was he here? How would he know what mother would want to keep. The photos obviously, but apart from that...

His eyes fell on an umbrella, Mycroft had several but there was one or two he prized above all others. This was the one Sherlock had given to him as a child. He leaned down and picked it up from it's resting place on the floor. This, he'd keep this and perhaps some of his books. His brother still had some of the books that he used to read to Sherlock as a child...

Sherlock ran his fingers along the bookcase, taking several books from the shelves and then went to find John.


	28. Chapter 28

Present Day...

* * *

><p>He'd managed to persuade them to let him out early, it helped that he was able to run circles around them with his mind. He was able to walk now, with the aid of crutches and was told to come back for a checkup very soon. He didn't intend to. His suit was ruined, so the hospital staff had kindly provided him with some clothes. Nothing expensive, nothing in his taste at all. Something borrowed from one of the male nurses.<p>

Jeans and a hoodie. Really, jeans and a hoodie. Thank goodness no one could see him or he really would die, but of embarrassment. Yes they were comfortable but he was certain they didn't suit him. He probably looked ridiculous. Oh well, the sooner he was home, the sooner he could dress himself in one of his three piece suits. Something bespoke. Anything but this, hopefully no one would recognise him just yet. The last thing he needed was Sherlock or someone else seeing him in this hideous attire and never letting him forget it.

* * *

><p>Back in 221b, Sherlock and John were packing. Though it was more John was packing for the both of them. Sherlock had odd ideas on what one brought with them on ones holiday.<p>

"You can't take the microscope Sherlock!"

"Why not?"

"One, it won't fit, two you won't have room for much clothes or anything else and three, its a bloody microscope!"

"I fail to see a good reason why not"

"I just told you!"

"A 'good' reason"

John wrung his hands in frustration.

"You aren't taking it and thats final!"

"You're not my mother John"

John ran to Sherlock's case and grabbed the microscope. What resulted was a chase around the flat before John finally hid the microscope in his room. "Why can't you bring some books or something, you're bringing your laptop, you don't need anything else!... I mean besides clothes"

"I am bringing books!"

"The history of british serial killers is not something one reads on vacation!"

"You are never satisfied are you?"

John flipped open the closed suitcase.

"And another thing, you are not bringing the skull!"

"But you said I could bring something so I'd feel at home"

"Yes but not the skull!"

Sherlock knew a way out of this situation. He pouted. "But it's my friend, John.." John rolled his eyes. "That make work on some people but it won't work on me. Think of customs Sherlock! You can't go on vacation with a skull, we'll be arrested!"

"You're overreacting"

"Look, just..." He was so frustrated but pleased that they were getting back to the light hearted banter he was used too.

"I can't bring the skull, I can't bring my microscope, won't don't you just pack for me?"

"You are not getting out of this that easy"

"Just watch me"


	29. Chapter 29

Look I decided to update again! Again, all chapters are short because they are for the kink meme. Some are left as is others merged as I had to split them in half on lj. So enjoy and please review!

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><p>They ended up going to Europe for two weeks. Customs had been a nightmare, cause of Sherlock, who else? The night before they left John had unpacked several items from Sherlock's suitcase, which turned out to be a decoy. Of course. Luckily the officers at Customs had actually heard of Sherlock. John was quite, chuffed, to say the least, that his blog's readership reached across the seas.<p>

They travelled first to Paris, staying in a nice old hotel. Sherlock didn't say much. But John knew that the vacation had been the right idea. Sherlock was exhausted, emotionally, mentally and physically. He had been overexerting himself and with his injuries that wasn't a good thing. He was still recovering, not just from said injuries, but from Mycroft's death as well. Sherlock claimed that he was coping but John knew better.

They'd been to most of the normal tourists sites. Dull, boring according to Sherlock. John took it upon himself to take the photos and buy souvenirs. Sherlock had odd ideas about what one would call a souvenir. And John would rather get Mrs Hudson something nice instead of the stuffed bird Sherlock liked. At least he seem distracted. That had after all been the plan.

"There's nothing wrong with the bird John"

"It's dead"

"It's stuffed and look, the eyes are just the colour Mrs Hudson likes"

"It's a dead bird, we are not buying it"

"Fine, then you pick something, see if I care"

"Sherlock..."

John had been on Danger watch almost every night, especially since they landed in Paris. One might think him safe here, but Sherlock was good at hiding the obvious in plain sight. Twice he had found something in Sherlock's room before they left. John had considered confronting Sherlock but instead decided to wait, maybe it would stop, they were in Paris after all, perhaps he will relax here, recuperate. They were away from London and bad memories.

Sherlock had brought his violin as well. And it was so much worse then with Irene. The songs he would play, it constantly brought him to tears. Anyone who ever said Sherlock had no feelings would only have to listen to his music. It was heart-breaking. He played almost every night, standing by the window, looking out at the city below. Sometimes John would catch the tears on his cheeks before he wiped them away.

His flatmate had been doing so well and now John worried he was breaking, his heart was so fragile. John wasn't sure if he was capable of putting his friends heart back together. Hopefully this vacation would do him good. Maybe if he was far enough away from London and Moriarty, perhaps he would get better. But maybe that was simply wishful thinking.

Some days he seemed ok, they'd bicker like they always did, but if he smiled, it never quite reached his eyes, like it was forced. He never laughed. If John did, he would simply pat his shoulder and give a forced smile. Other days would scare John. Other days he'd sit in the same chair for the entire day or simply not even leave his bed.

Tonight he was fast asleep on the couch. Today had been a good day. They'd seen a movie, had a great meal at this little cafe and Sherlock had come back to the hotel, changed into his pyjamas and fell asleep immediately on the couch. He was really trying to enjoy this, even if it was just for John's sake.


	30. Chapter 30

John came back with the groceries, even overseas he was having to do this. It was ridiculous. And what a pain that had been. He barely spoke a word of French, all he had was a phrase book to go by. Not to mention it had taken him forever, so much so that it was dark now. John wondered if Sherlock was still sleeping on the couch back in their hotel room. Hopefully, god knows he needed the rest.

He tiptoed up to their room, closing the door quietly behind him. There he was, still on the couch in his red dressing gown. He smiled softly at the sleeping form and headed into their small kitchen. At least he was still resting. His flatmate had barely slept or eaten since the explosion and that fact had not changed since they arrived here either.

As he headed back into the living room he noticed the uneaten plate of food on the table. Sherlock...you've got to eat mate, I can't have you wasting away to nothing. He picked up the plate, considering even waking the detective to make him eat. But that would be too cruel, but then sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind, didn't you?

"Sherlock?"

"Sherlock? Look you need to eat something Sherlock, just a little bit, come on"

"Sherlock?" He was so still. Something wasn't right. No... he couldn't have...

He grabbed his friends shoulder, shaking it slightly. "Sherlock?" He shook harder. Nothing. Ok, stay calm, don't panic. He's probably just in a deep sleep since he doesn't rest very often. "Sherlock? Mate come on..wake up" John turned Sherlock onto his back. He was as pale as ever and completely dead to the world. Damn it Sherlock! He pushed up both sleeves and practically growled when he saw a faint, small needle mark amidst the bruises.

"You bloody idiot! What the hell have you taken!"

He shook harder, grabbing his friends face with both hands and screaming into it. "ANSWER ME SHERLOCK HOLMES!" He felt for a pulse, his own sky-rocketing. Ok he's alive and breathing. Keeping one hand on the wrist of his flatmate, he searched the immediate vicinity for a syringe or a hiding place. There! One of his books was lying open flat in front of him and the spine was not well attached, the perfect hiding place. And inside, a small victorian syringe, already emptied. But why had it not been detected by Customs? Or had he brought it here?

"You bloody idiot!"

The heart beat was slowing, getting fainter. Oh no you don't! He pulled Sherlock to the floor, taking out his phone with one hand and trying to remember the emergency number for France. Shit, he got nothing and meanwhile his friend was dying on the floor. His pulse so much slower than before, he was just fading away right in front of him. The complete and absolute bastard. How dare he.

"Don't you dare do this to me Sherlock! Don't you fucking dare!"

He tried the phone once more, this time with the phrase book on Sherlock's chest. This time he had better success. He gave them, in broken french, the hotel address and threw both the phone and the phrase book to the side. His friend was barely breathing now. Why though Sherlock? Why? You were doing so well! You were getting better! Slowly yes but still...John felt tears stain his cheeks as he prepared to give his best friend the kiss of life.

"Don't do this to me Sherlock...not again"


	31. Chapter 31

John sat on the hold, hard seat, waiting. Here they were again. Yet this time it was so different. The last time he sat on one of these seats waiting it had been through no fault of Sherlock's own. This time it was. Stupid, bloody idiot.

He'd overdosed, the bloody idiot had overdosed on morphine. Had John not arrived when he did, his best friend might have quietly passed away in his drug induced sleep. John shuddered, his chest tight. The mere thought of Sherlock dying alone shook him to the core.

* * *

><p>"Monsieur Watson?"<p>

John looked up, wiping his eyes quickly. "Is he ok? Sorry... don't speak french.." The doctor gave him a sympathetic smile and nodded. "He is ok, for now Monsieur Watson, he is..how you say? Stable. He has quite a ...résilience to the drug, non?" John didn't answer, his feet shuffled nervously. Of course he had a resilience. "Can I see him? Please..." The other man nodded, leading John towards his hospital room and leaving the two alone.

It was so eerily similar to what had happened no more than a month ago. Sherlock lying there, as pale as the sheets beneath him, connected to more machines this time. Stupid idiot. Bastard, git, sod. John sat down next to his bed, just like before, again taking his hand in his own. Just to reassure himself that he was alive. Because not too long ago he hadn't been.

He'd stopped breathing and John had been forced to perform CPR. Something he never wanted to do again. Those moments before Sherlock had breathed once more, had been some of the worst of his life. He really had been dead. He really had left John. For one brief moment, for only a few minutes, Sherlock Holmes had been dead.

"How could you do this Sherlock? How could you do this to me? To Mrs Hudson even, to all our friends back home? I don't understand, I don't want to understand. You can't keep doing this. You were going so well, but I suppose you probably have been doing this behind my back, some friend and doctor I am" He stared at the ceiling, blinking back new tears.

"My heart can't keep taking this Sherlock. First the explosion, then you were catatonic and now this...please...I want to know why you felt you had to do this. I know you're grieving...did you want to die Sherlock? Is that it? Was the pain of losing Mycroft so bad that you thought you had to end it? Its not like you...please...tell me it was just an accident"

Tell me I didn't fail you Sherlock...

Just tell me...


	32. Chapter 32

(bear with me, if the links don't work I'll have to re-write the whole chapter again. Lets hope they work )

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><p>It was fortunate in a way that Mycroft had over estimated himself and needed to return to the hospital for a few more days. Because upon arriving at his front door he found it locked, the key missing, the one he had with him no longer worked, so the lock had been changed. With no access to his money, being thought dead, no phone to call for help, he was basically, for all intents and purposes, homeless.<p>

Which was why he was just a bit glad to be going back to the hospital, it had even proven fruitful. He now had emergency accommodation to fall back on once he was out, which should be in a few more days. Unfortunately that also meant emergency clothes too. Oh well, one can not be too picky.

It wasn't all that bad, the clothes fit well and they were not jeans and hoodies either. He had a small room, food and emergency money. There was even a little room downstairs hooked up to the internet. Mycroft took this opportunity to view John's blog, the only link he had right now to that world. He rested his injured leg on a spare chair and typed in the web address. There were several new entries. He clicked on the earliest.

**The Treasure Hunt**

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><p><em>This morning we received a message, from an old "friend". The friendly neighbourhood bomber. He wanted to play another game, this time a treasure hunt of sorts. Seemed simple enough but should we fail to find all the clues by a certain time, somewhere in London would go up in flames. Of course he didn't tell us where or when. Brilliant.<em>

_ The first clue we solved pretty quickly. It was a photo of a room,Sherlock recognised it eventually. His old flat. We went there, called up our friends at the Yard and looked for the next clue. It turned out to be a jar of bath salts. Turkish bath salts accruing to Sherlock. Off he went to preform experiments and left me to go around London for information of Turkish Baths. Thanks a lot Sherlock._

_ Eventually he called back and found the correct place. Somewhere in Kensington. So of course we had to go and search the place. It wasn't that bad, really expensive and very luxurious. Quire relaxing really. Though it didn't last for long. Sherlock managed to find the next clue after several tries I might add and almost getting himself thrown out of the building. Turns out it was hidden in another one of those jars. It was a photo of a church and part of a staircase, with a quote written on the back._

_ 'Nothing except a battle lost can be half as melancholy as a battle won'_

_ Neither of us had a clue what that was supposed to mean. But guess who solved part of the riddle, found the location? Your's truly. It was St Paul's Cathedral, I recognised the staircase from the Harry Potter movies. Needless to say I was chuffed. So, off we went again. Using my phone we figured out who the quote was from. The Duke of Wellington. We went down to his tomb. It was all very Da Vinci Code._

_ There against the sarcophagus was our next clue. And this one had even our detective stumped. It simply said, 'I watch from above.' We went back to Baker Street and spent time there trying to figure out what this meant. Strangely enough it was one of the scientists from the Yard that solved it. He wishes to remain nameless. But the quote referred to the London Eye. Simple._

_ We spent forever in that line until the Yard eventually turned up to search every capsule. This time the clue was a murder. Solver the murder and it will lead you to the location of the bomb. So more running, traffic and we find ourselves in this old abandoned shop. Sherlock quickly deduced that the woman had not been killed there but somewhere else, near a hairdressers and a second hand bookstore. Using the map in his head he quickly found the location, (That thing is really useful)_

_ Here's where things went wrong. We found the building, every room was empty. Except one. It had a brand new flatscreen telly. And our bomber was talking to us through it. The bomb wasn't here, it was never going to be here. He had been playing with us all along. But he gave us one last chance. He showed as a picture of where the bomb was. Pall Mall and then he started playing Ke$ha._

_ Sherlock..I haven't seen him like that in a long time. He was almost on the verge of panicking. Because thats where his brother was, Pall Mall. With time rapidly running out we both made out way to Pall Mall, just in time to see it explode. Sherlock and I did not escape unscathed. Currently he's still in hospital. Im still waiting for him to wake up. Bloody idiot. I'll update you all soon on his condition. _

* * *

><p>Sherlock...you had better be ok. Of course Sherlock would get himself in trouble. He always did, always had. Mycroft was very thankful that John had been there to look after and protect his brother. But then he was always thankful that John had turned up and become his brothers only close friend. He continued reading, clicking a new post.<p>

**Hospital**

* * *

><p><em>Sorry for not updating you all on the latest information, I know many of you are very worried. Sherlock and me are still in hospital. Sherlock's awake now, thank god but...he's not responsive. They say he's catatonic. And we know why now too, his brother didn't make it. I'm very concerned, which is why I have to go now. Hopefully I'll have good news for you all soon.<em>

* * *

><p>Mycroft's chest tightened, his eyes continued to well up. Little brother...I am so sorry, I didn't mean to cause you such pain...if you're not ok, so help me. He wiped his eyes and read on.<p>

**Funeral**

* * *

><p><em>So a lot has happened since I last updated. Sherlock came back to us, thank god. I've never been so happy in my life, I swear. Scared the hell outta me and our friends. He has a long way to go before he's back to his old self. If he ever will be. He's grieving now, over his brother. He was a nice man, just as smart as Sherlock, perhaps more so. London won't be the same without him.<em>

_ After returning home Sherlock went back to his old routine of not eating, barely sleeping and playing mournful music. Except this time he really was mourning. I took it upon myself to help with the funeral arrangements. It was packed, so many prominent people spoke. EVEN Sherlock, though I swear it broke his heart. Because he does have one, whatever everyone else says._

_ We had a small wake at his house. Sherlock ignored everyone. Can't say I blame him. I have no idea what must be going through his head right now. I did get to see a few photos of him and his brother as children. First time I saw him smile this the explosion._

_ More updates to come. Thank you all for your kind words and support._

* * *

><p>Mycroft stopped reading there, unable to continue. He placed his hands upon his face ad let his tears fall freely. He had no idea, the thought had ever occurred to him that his brother would think him dead. And now to hear just how badly this had affected him, it had broken his heart. His brother injured, then catatonic and now mourning his older brother.. it was all too much.<p>

Oh Sherlock, forgive me please. He had hoped to be found by his brother, he had expected it in fact. But now after learning all this, he found incredibly guilty for not revealing he was alive much earlier. Mycroft had once said that caring was not an advantage, how true he felt those words were now. Now more than ever, he had to work out a way to let them know he was alive. Because Mycroft knew his brother and he knew it wouldn't be long for him to fall back on his old habits.


	33. Chapter 33

(short sorry but putting in in the blog format makes it shorter!)

* * *

><p>He took a deep breath, there was still one more post. It was titled Going On Holiday, so Mycroft deduced that things had become much better in the 221b household, which eased his pain a little. He hoped he was right as he scrolled up and clicked the link.<p>

**Going On Holiday**

* * *

><p><em>Me and Sherlock won't be in London for awhile, we're going on holiday. This city at the moment holds to many bad memories and the whether right now isn't very good for the health of either of us, but especially Sherlock. So we're going to a few places in Europe for about two weeks and hopefully when we come back we'll be healthier and happier. <em>

_We actually started packing yesterday and what an ordeal that was. Cause Sherlock has weird ideas on what you bring on a holiday. First he wanted to bring his microscope. I mean who brings a microscope on holiday? Who? Sherlock obviously. But there was no way that was happening, so I took it off him and we ended up chasing each other around the flat. I tell you I am really glad to see him a little brighter. _

_And then he wanted to bring some books on serial killers, light reading he calls it. I call it getting us arrested and you just don't read that sort of thing on holiday. This is supposed to be him on a break. Finally he wanted to bring his skull. Cause I said bring something that reminds you of home. Like hell he's bringing that thing! That will definitely get us arrested! He just complained and said I can do his packing. Nope mate, thats your job but I honestly thing in the end I will have too. He will no doubt throw a childish tantrum and refuse to pack at all. _

_If you need to contact us just message me on this blog, I'll check from time to time or let Mrs Hudson know, any cases you have for us will have to wait. Now is the time for relaxation. Hoping to have plenty of stories to tell you all when we get back! _

_See you soon! _

_P.S Sherlock says Laterz, not that it matters._

* * *

><p>This brought a smile to Mycroft's lips. He praised John from the bottom of his heart. This was precisely what he himself would have done. Sherlock had probably not been on a holiday for many, many years, he definitely needed it and no more so than now. But this now posed a new problem, he had no way of contacting John or Sherlock until they came back... unless he spoke to Mrs Hudson! Brilliant!<p>

As soon as he was able, Mycroft decided to stop by 221B and let Mrs Hudson know he was alive. Perhaps, just perhaps he would be able to stay there and contact people in a more familiar environment. She surely would not turn him away, whatever disagreements they'd had in the past. Smiling more than he had all month, he logged himself off the computer and headed back to his room.

* * *

><p>When Sherlock initially awoke, a day later, he was quite confused as to where he was. His first thought was that this was not his flat in 221b, the second was to remind himself that he was no longer in London but Paris. His third was that this was not his hotel room but in fact a hospital. But he couldn't figure out why he was in one. Had he had an accident? Been sick? Why couldn't he remember? The last thing he did, that he was sure of was that he had laid down on the couch and... ? he drew a blank.<p>

He turned his head to get a better view of the room and spotted a form, on the hospital chair beside him, fast asleep. John...John was fine, though pale, his eyes were very red. So perhaps not an accident. His eyes were red...that suggests it was something bad, so sickness seemed likely out of the question. What had happened? Think, think! He remembered lying on the couch and...and...oh no. The syringe. Had he taken too much? He had been tired but unable to sleep. When he slept he had nightmares. Terrible nightmares.

So he taken the morphine and evidently too much of it. Something must have happened, he'd overdosed. Oh John Im so sorry. A tear slid down his cheek. Forgive me John please. And stay, don't go John...don't ever go. After all that had happened John was still there. John was always there. Sometimes Sherlock didn't understand it. They lived such dangerous lives, but John didn't seem to mind. Like Sherlock he seemed the thrive on it. But lately it had caused the two of them nothing but pain. He stayed watching John for some time, again unable to sleep.

When John opened his eyes, a few hours later, his immediate thought was to check on Sherlock. To his complete surprise he was awake and watching him. "Sherlock!" John jumped up, not sure if he ought to call for a nurse or not. John cautiously sat back down, moving his chair as close to the bed as possible. "Sherlock?" Please be ok, you better be ok and not lost like last time.

"John..."

"Sherlock! Thank god! You had me worried! Again!.."

"...I am sorry...forgive me..."

John placed a hand against his own mouth. Sherlock had apologised and he looked so saddened. "Sherlock...of course I forgive you but I have to know...did you..did you try to kill yourself?" He had hesitated asking and now dreaded the answer. If he said yes what do I do? How do I help him? If he said no, then this was most likely an accident, but he had been reckless, did he care if he lived or died anymore? He stared into his lap, afraid to look into his friends eyes, terrified about what he might find.


	34. Chapter 34

Sherlock's eyes widened like saucers, did John really think that of him? He would never, at least he was certain, that he would never try and take his own life. Yes he was quite depressed over everything that had happened but not enough to leave John and this world forever, they were both far too interesting.

"John...I swear it was an accident" Please believe me John..

John breathed a sigh of relief and struck up the courage to look Sherlock in the eyes. He saw there, sincerity and this calmed his heart. So it had been an accident then, that was good, well not good but at least now he knew his friend wasn't suicidal. "Then...why Sherlock? Were you just reckless? Why did you start using again?" You were going so well, I don't understand.

"...I wanted to forget" I wanted to make the pain go away...

"Forget what's happened?" Oh Sherlock...

Sherlock nodded.

"I just wanted to forget it never happened because I can't sleep. When I close my eyes I see it happening and it's always so much worse in dreams then in real life. And sometimes...sometimes he's alive again John and everything is as it used to be and should be but then I wake up and suddenly the realisation comes crashing down that I will never see him again, never hear his voice, condescending or no, never again being relaxed in the knowledge that he is watching over me, over us. There is not one else who is like me anymore John, who really understand how I do what I do..me and Mycroft were the same in many ways and now he's gone. And...I just can't deal with that John...so I took the drug to forget, to have a dreamless sleep but I was tired and I guess I took too much."

* * *

><p>Neither had looked at the other during this speech, it was the most Sherlock had spoken since the explosion. Now John truly understood and he was glad that Sherlock had had the courage to get this off his chest because one look at him told him that he too was relieved to have spoken of his grief. Tears were present in both their eyes as they so often had been during this entire ordeal. John held Sherlock's hand in his own, reassuring his friend and himself.<p>

"I don't blame you for wanting to forget Sherlock... but this wasn't the way to do it. You won't ever forget..I know I never have, I still remember the faces of my friends lost in war, I still dream about it. Yes I may miss the war in some ways but I wish with all my heart that I didn't have to see the faces of my dead comrades when I close my eyes. I can't promise that this will get any easier, but I can promise that you don't have to deal with this pain alone. Promise me you'll talk to me, ok Sherlock?"

Sherlock closed his eyes, he didn't deserve John, not really but he was so glad to have him in his life, that he couldn't even express it in words. With Mycroft gone, he felt this even more, John was the only brother he had left now, the only person on this earth who truly understood him. Of course he'd tell him.

"I promise John"

"Good, now focus on getting better, we still have a holiday to finish!"

"Only if I choose the next place to visit, somewhere not horribly populated with boring tourists and no tour guides! I swear the last one was such an imbecile if you had not been there I would have thrown my guide book in his face"

John laughed, the image coming easily to his mind. "Alright, but nothing morbid or too obscure, this is my holiday too"

"I can't promise you anything except that it will not be boring"

"Thats all I ask mate"


	35. Chapter 35

Sherlock's eyes widened like saucers, did John really think that of him? He would never, at least he was certain, that he would never try and take his own life. Yes he was quite depressed over everything that had happened but not enough to leave John and this world forever, they were both far too interesting.

"John...I swear it was an accident" Please believe me John..

John breathed a sigh of relief and struck up the courage to look Sherlock in the eyes. He saw there, sincerity and this calmed his heart. So it had been an accident then, that was good, well not good but at least now he knew his friend wasn't suicidal. "Then...why Sherlock? Were you just reckless? Why did you start using again?" You were going so well, I don't understand.

"...I wanted to forget" I wanted to make the pain go away...

"Forget what's happened?" Oh Sherlock...

Sherlock nodded.

"I just wanted to forget it never happened because I can't sleep. When I close my eyes I see it happening and it's always so much worse in dreams then in real life. And sometimes...sometimes he's alive again John and everything is as it used to be and should be but then I wake up and suddenly the realisation comes crashing down that I will never see him again, never hear his voice, condescending or no, never again being relaxed in the knowledge that he is watching over me, over us. There is not one else who is like me anymore John, who really understand how I do what I do..me and Mycroft were the same in many ways and now he's gone. And...I just can't deal with that John...so I took the drug to forget, to have a dreamless sleep but I was tired and I guess I took too much."

* * *

><p>Neither had looked at the other during this speech, it was the most Sherlock had spoken since the explosion. Now John truly understood and he was glad that Sherlock had had the courage to get this off his chest because one look at him told him that he too was relieved to have spoken of his grief. Tears were present in both their eyes as they so often had been during this entire ordeal. John held Sherlock's hand in his own, reassuring his friend and himself.<p>

"I don't blame you for wanting to forget Sherlock... but this wasn't the way to do it. You won't ever forget..I know I never have, I still remember the faces of my friends lost in war, I still dream about it. Yes I may miss the war in some ways but I wish with all my heart that I didn't have to see the faces of my dead comrades when I close my eyes. I can't promise that this will get any easier, but I can promise that you don't have to deal with this pain alone. Promise me you'll talk to me, ok Sherlock?"

Sherlock closed his eyes, he didn't deserve John, not really but he was so glad to have him in his life, that he couldn't even express it in words. With Mycroft gone, he felt this even more, John was the only brother he had left now, the only person on this earth who truly understood him. Of course he'd tell him.

"I promise John"

"Good, now focus on getting better, we still have a holiday to finish!"

"Only if I choose the next place to visit, somewhere not horribly populated with boring tourists and no tour guides! I swear the last one was such an imbecile if you had not been there I would have thrown my guide book in his face"

John laughed, the image coming easily to his mind. "Alright, but nothing morbid or too obscure, this is my holiday too"

"I can't promise you anything except that it will not be boring"

"Thats all I ask mate"


	36. Chapter 36

Two day's later, Mycroft donned the closest thing he could get to a respectable outfit. Black trousers, white shirt, old black vest and jacket. It wasn't really a full outfit, but it was close enough. Good enough at least that he looked somewhat like his old self, at least that is what he thought. He reviewed himself in the mirror, shocked at the appearance of his face and to a latter extent his body.

His skin was almost as pale as his brother's, his hair slightly longer than he remembered, he did always like a short, no nonsense sort of style, he had bruises around his eye and upon his cheeks. He still required a bandage around his forehead, though he opted for a patch over the effected areas whenever possible but this wasn't always the right thing to do. Some part's of his head were not able to hold a patch.

He'd lost weight too...quite a bit actually, hospital food leaved much to be desired and because of the wound to his side, he simply hand't been all the hungry. Well...so he didn't really look like himself, he hardly recognised his own reflection. But that didn't matter, as long as Mrs Hudson knew him, that was all that really mattered right now. He packed his new, meagre amount of belongings and asked if they could be sent to 221b and then used his crutches to head out towards the taxi waiting outside.

* * *

><p>Would she hate him? He wondered, they didn't really get along as well as he would like. He appreciated that she mothered his little brother, god knows he needed that sort of thing, usually as they were growing up, Mycroft had to take the roles of mother, father and older brother, their parents simply weren't around very much.<p>

Christmas and birthdays sometimes just consisted of the two of them. It was a lonely sort of childhood. So he was very pleased that Mrs Hudson cared so much for Sherlock and concerned that she may not be too happy that he wasn't really dead. That Sherlock had gone through all that pain for nothing.

The cab stopped, the cabbie helping Mycroft out and then waving goodbye. The elder Holmes stood in front of the door to 221b with nervous anticipation. He paused, his hands above the bell, a noticeable bullet wound still through it's heart. No replacement yet, his lips twitched slightly upwards as he raised his fist to the door instead. Now he waited. What would he do if she wasn't home? Mycroft looked up, hearing footsteps coming towards the door, he took a breath. This was the moment of truth.

The door opened.

"Hello Mrs Hudson"


	37. Chapter 37

Silence. Mrs Hudson took a few steps forward, as if testing the vision before her. Surely this wasn't real. Having Sherlock has a tenant must have finally driven her mad. Of all the people she had expected to be behind that door, Mycroft Holmes was not one of them.

"Is it really you?" She queried, not even sure if she would received an answer. It looked like him in any case. Paler, thiner, clearly been badly hurt, but put those things aside, he really did look like one Mycroft Holmes. The man before her nodded, clearly not sure where to begin his explanation. She moved closer, raising her hand as if to stroke his cheek, instead giving it a very, hard slap, that almost knocked over the poor man.

"Mrs Hudson!" Was all Mycroft could say, he was shocked, that had been the last thing he'd expected. Violence was a reaction he was expecting from John and Sherlock but not from kind, old, Mrs Hudson, clearly here was a side to her he didn't know about. She turned, her eyes fuming but didn't close the door, definitely an invitation then. He limped inside with aid from his crutches, able to hear her pottering around upstairs.

She was in their flat, making tea it appeared, when Mycroft finally made it up all those steps. He sat down on one of the armchairs, laying the crutches beside him, wincing as pain shot up his leg. Mrs Hudson kept glancing at him as she brewed the tea, still not convinced he was real.

Because how could he be? He'd been killed in the explosion, she knew, she had to watch his little brother mourn, something that had broken her heart. If Mycroft Holmes was indeed alive and sitting in this flat she was going to give him a piece of her mind.

* * *

><p>Mrs Hudson picked up the two cups and sat down opposite Mycroft, handing him one of the cups.<p>

Mycroft took it hesitantly, have expecting her to throw it in his face. "So then, Mycroft Holmes, you better have a very good reason for not being dead" Or so help me you'll have me to deal with. He coughed on his tea, almost hacking up a lung. She waited and then leaned over hitting him hard on the back. "T-thank you Mrs Hudson" He wiped his mouth and tried to figure out where to start this story.

"I do have a good reason, thank you very much, simply put I didn't find out that people though I had perished in the explosion till it was too later, they gave me a newspaper while I was recovering in the hospital, thats how I found out. By then I suppose there was little I could do to put things right, at least not until I'd recovered completely and was sure Moriarty was not watching"

"You could have called"

"I had no money, no phone, how do you suppose I would have been able to do such a thing when I have only recently been released?"

"You broke his heart"

"...I know"

She sipped her tea. "You don't look well...you were badly hurt weren't you?" It was the only explanation in her mind for not contacting them earlier. He nodded, his eyes focused on the floor. "They were not sure I would make it. I wish I could have let them know, John and Sherlock...I read John's blog..I know some of what has been going on"

Oh Mycroft dear...he looked so sad, so full of regret and worry for his little brother. Sherlock needed mothering, it was clear to her that Mycroft needed that just as much.


	38. Chapter 38

"Well you're here now and that's what matters, but If you read John's blog, then you know they are overseas?"

Again Mycroft nodded. "I..have nowhere to go, I was hoping perhaps I could stay here until they came back or until I was able to get back in contact with my people. I was hoping for a few days rest before I do such a thing." The sooner the better in his mind but his body disagreed.

"You need a lot more rest than just a few days, Mycroft Holmes" replied Mrs Hudson as if chiding a child. "You can take Sherlock's room, it's the neatest. Which is a bit odd really, considering the state of the rest of this house." Mycroft gave her a small, grateful smile.

"Thank you Mrs Hudson, I promise I won't be in your way" She dismissed this with a wave and a warm smile. "It looks like I better go and buy some groceries for you, goodness knows what's in their fridge right now, I dread to think" She stood, forming a grocery list in her mind, she had no Idea what sort of food Mycroft liked, so he will just have to be satisfied with what ever she brought.

"...I am glad you're alive, I don't ever want to see poor Sherlock like that again. He'll be happy to I expect, once he's gotten over the initial shock" I hope so Mrs Hudson, I hope so.

He watched her leave, relieved that he now had somewhere to stay, somewhere familiar. He picked up the small bag that contained, at the moment, his whole life and lugged it towards Sherlock's room. It was very neat, even his bedroom as a child had not been that neat. But Mycroft supposed that now that he had more rooms, he could evenly spread around his life.

He placed the bag on the bed, his eyes been drawn to a corner of the room. There, against the wall, lay an umbrella. He picked it up, studying it. This was his, the one Sherlock had given to him as a child...so they had gone through his home then. He held the umbrella against his chest for a moment, before putting it back down. Sherlock...please forgive me...

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile back in Paris..<em>.

* * *

><p>Sherlock had just been released from Hospital into John's capable hands. More than ever, rest was paramount and John wasted no time in searching the entire hotel room for any spare syringes. Sherlock maintained it was the only one but as much as John would like to believe him, he didn't.<p>

The man in question was again lying on the couch he'd nearly died in. John shuddered, dismissing the thought. The sooner they left Paris the better. He took out some bread and butter and began to make a sandwich. Sherlock needed to eat. Still so thin. John handed Sherlock the plate of food and did not move until he began to eat.

"I'm alright now John"

"Bullshit"

Sherlock couldn't think of anything to reply to that statement. John was probably right, he wasn't ok, but he would be. It would take time, but he would be.

Mrs Hudson had expected Mycroft to be much easier to deal with than his little brother but he was anything but. He was just as bad. He didn't play the violin at three in the morning and he did eat, usually. But he could sit for hours on end thinking, completely ignoring everything and he had begun to complete a few of Sherlock's left over experiments out of boredom. Clearly this was a Holmes trait. He could be just as rude and arrogant as Sherlock, though usually only if he was stressed and in pain.

She placed a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him, he was reading in Sherlock's armchair, he wrinkled his nose at the food before him, as he had a lot lately. He considered his palate far too sophisticated for...scrambled eggs. But food was food, and he was hungry.

"Don't turn your nose up at it young man, you eat what you're given"

"You're not my mother Mrs Hudson and I am not my brother"

"Clearly you both need mothering, so get used to it Mycroft Holmes"

He had noticed, from the week he'd spent here so far recuperating, that she had a habit of calling him by his whole name when she was frustrated with him. It was some what annoying but also quite touching, he was beginning to see why Sherlock was so fond of her.

"You don't happen to know at all when they plan to come home?"

She shook her head. "Soon I hope, they've been away for awhile and those two can find trouble just about anywhere. I have been thinking of giving them a ring sometime soon...maybe I should today? See how they are" Mycroft shrugged.

"Don't mention that I am alive, it's better for the both of them to see me face to face, I would not want to cause them the pain of anxiously waiting to get home." Mrs Hudson shook her head tsking. "They need to know soon, how long to you plan to keep up this charade, Mycroft Holmes"

"Until I am well, It is much safer for myself to stay low until I can be sure that Moriarty is not still watching, he's a crafty fellow"

"Well& I think I'll go give them a call right now"

* * *

><p>They'd packed and left Paris a few days ago, now they were in Rome. John could see Sherlock enjoying himself a lot more now. They'd already visiting several places, some slightly morbid but Sherlock seemed happy and fascinated so John didn;t really mind. But they were really creepy places.<p>

First they'd visited a crypt full of the bones and skulls of monks. Sherlock was fascinated, pointing out the different patterns to John, occasionally trying to guess what they died from. Then they'd visited the catacombs, that had seriously freaked John out, Sherlock was having the time of his life however. After that they'd visited some normal tourists sites, like the Colosseum and the Pantheon. John had taken so man photos he'd needed to upload half onto his computer before continuing.

Here was a photo of Sherlock in the crypt, his eyes lit up, pointing at a morbid chandelier, talking to John. Here was another, taken by Sherlock this time. John was in the corner, looking slightly freaked out and uncomfortable. Another photo, John was wearing a roman helmet, Sherlock was next to him laughing, another with Sherlock wearing the helmet looking less than amused, John however was beside himself. They'd found a fellow tourist from London to take those photos.

John turned off the camera, glancing back at his friend who was yelling at the television, some things never changed. And then the phone rang. That was &.odd, even Sherlock turned to look. John picked it up, wondering who on earth would be calling , they were on holiday!

"Hello?"

"John dear! It's Mrs Hudson!"

"Who is it?" Tell them to go away John

John moved the phone away from his mouth. "It's Mrs Hudson" Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Don't tell her anything, you hear?" Not relising that across the sea, his brother was alive and making the same request of Mrs Hudson. John waved a hand at Sherlock and continued talking.


	39. Chapter 39

"How can I help you Mrs Hudson?"

"I was just calling to see how you both are, have you been enjoying yourselves?"

"Oh yes, been all over the place, taken heaps of photos too"

"Thats nice dear, been taking care of yourselves?"

John paused, looking at Sherlock, who mimed back 'No'. Too bad Sherlock. "Well I have been, but you know Sherlock" Mrs Hudson tutted on the other end of the call. "Got himelf into trouble did he?" John sighed "Thats one way of putting it, yeah, but look when we get home I'll tell you all about it"

"You better not"

"Shut up Sherlock"

"Make me"

John threw a cushion at his friend's head, an amused smile on his lips. "When are you coming back dear?...You've got a visitor" John raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Who is it?" Mrs Hudson looked over at Mycroft, who was mirroring his brother's silent actions.

"Oh just an old friend...you should really come home soon dear, there's already a pile of cases waiting for you and...this visiot would really like to see you" John got the impression there was more behind what Mrs Hudson was saying, but didn't voice this thought.

"We'll be home soon, Mrs Hudson, say hi to everyone for us!"Sherlock had grabbed the phone from John's hands, sending a hurried, sarcastic message down the line.

"Sherlock!.. Wait I-"

"Goodbye Mrs Hudson!" He hung up.

"Sherlock you can't just take the phone off me"

"What did I just do then?"

"Thats not what I meant"

"Look, the less they know the better, I don't need another lecture. Besides they'd probably...just..um worry" He knew they cared, though for the life of him, he couldn't imagine why sometimes. "

If it comes up...or they realise, then you can tell them but I doubt they will notice, John. Besides, Im getting better, my wounds are healing...why do we need to bring it up at all?"

"You nearly died Sherlock! In fact you did die!"

"But Im alive now and getting well, I don't see the point in bringing up this subject again."

"They'd want to know!"

"Are you sure...?"

"Well..I...ok, I don't know but you can't just dismiss it"

"I have already"

John sighed and gave up, putting his head in his hands. "You're impossible sometimes Sherlock, you really are". Sherlock gave John a grin. "This wasn't an already established fact?" John couldn't help but laugh, Sherlock's smiles always did that too him.

"Sometimes I feel the need to remind you Sherlock"

"Can't imagine why"

They spent a few more days around Rome, seeing the sites and buying souvenirs. Well that was John buying souvenirs while Sherlock complained about how stupid they all were. And then it was off back home, they took a plane, which had been less than enjoyable.

Because again, Sherlock couldn't keep his mouth shut. Though he had fallen asleep half way through the flight. On John's shoulder too, it was a good thing he didn't snore. And John could have done without the air hostess cooing over how adorable they looked together and dismissing John's insistence that he wasn't gay.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock...Sherlock~" He flicked his friend's nose.<p>

Sherlock muttered something in french before opening his eyes. "What John? I was having the most wonderful dream.. I think Anderson was eaten by a Tyrannosaurus Rex" John chuckled and pointed at the window. "We're home Sherlock"

Sherlock moved closer to the window and looked outside. Home&would it ever really feel like that again? He supposed he was starting to move on, it had been hard getting used to the facts but he felt he was well and truly on his way, to putting this incident behind him.

"The sooner we start our cases again the better"

"I'd like a few days rest at home first, Sherlock"

"But you've just been resting!"

"I've been running around Paris and Rome! Holidaying with you is exhausting!"

"But..you did enjoy the holiday?..Except for..that incident at the hotel?"

"Yeah..it was fun Sherlock..did you enjoy it though?" After all that was the whole point mate. Sherlock looked thoughtful for a few seconds, before smiling back at John. "Yes..I think I did" John smiled back. "Good, Im glad then, that was the whole point" Sherlock pretended to be shocked. "I had no idea John, none at all"

"Oh stop it"

"Never"

* * *

><p>Customs was tiring, at least he didn't have to explain much about their luggage or why they had a skull in Sherlock's bag, or why there was a roman helmet setting off the alarms in the other. Sherlock still didn't know why John had brought it, it was quite useless.<p>

"Why did you buy that helmet, John?"

"I liked it, besides, thought it might be useful"

"How could a roman helmet be useful?" He scoffed at the very thought.

"Well, maybe I can use it the next time we get invited to a fancy dress party!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and groaned. "I am not going to one of those again. The last one was terrible! You made me dress up as a dragon!" He pointed an accusing finger at John who only laughed. "Well it was a book themed party and we got The Hobbit" Sherlock shook his head.

"You could have picked some other character"

"You could have picked your own character. Besides, you're far too tall for a dwarf or a hobbit, you're too grumpy to be an elf and I can't really see you as Gandalf mate. So dragon it was"

"I looked ridiculous"

"It suited your personality I think, besides you were smoking anyway, so I don't see what the problem was, besides my outfit wasn't all that great either"

"I was staying In Character John and don't fish for sympathy everyone liked your outfit, the hobbit indeed, they said it was cute."

"Dragons don't smoke Sherlock"

"They breath smoke John"

John just laughed and lugged their luggage out of the airport.


	40. Chapter 40

Mrs Hudson busied herself with cleaning the flat while she waited for the boys to come home. John had phoned ahead to say they would be only a few hours, so Mrs Hudson decided to at least clean up the place, even though she knew the minute they came home it would be utterly pointless.

Mycroft was currently deep in thought on the couch, hands clasped before him, much like his little brother, trying to figure out what to say to his little brother. This whole affair had been painful and complicated and Mycroft just wanted it to be over, but when your brother, his best friend, everyone who knew you, thought you were dead, what did you say? "Are you alright dear?"

"Hm... What?"

She sat down next to him, patting his good leg. "I said are you alright? Look at you, stop worrying, everything will be fine" He shook his head, how could things be fine? Sherlock would either hate him, leave the flat or simply shut down. John he expected to hate him, punch him even, he was so very loyal. "How? How will things be fine Mrs Hudson, I, for once have no idea what to say to him." She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Then don't say anything" No, that wouldn't work. Think Mycroft, think!

* * *

><p>John phoned their other friends letting them know they were back in London. Everyone's first reply was of course "Is Sherlock alright?" See mate, they do care. Sherlock ignored him though, since they got further into the city, the quieter he had become. Well, mostly. "No you can't talk to Lestrade!"<p>

"But he might have a case for me"

"I asked, he didn't, besides I said rest first, deduce later!"

"My mind will rot John"

"Let it rot"

"You're cruel John Watson" He even pouted, he was such a child."Look we're almost at Baker Street, it won't hurt you to spend a few days at home before jumping out into the big bad world of crime solving, ok?" Sherlock folded his arms and went back to ignoring John.

"Child"

"Bully"

"How am I a bully?"

"You won't let me even solve one little case, not even for that man who'd lost his luggage!"

"Because you called him an idiot and I could tell he was going to punch you in the face!"

"At least I wouldn't be bored"

John threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. Sherlock grinned. John shook his head in mirth and smiled as they turned the corner into Baker Street. "Home sweet home" he mumbled as the cab stopped outside their door. Sherlock helped John with the luggage, using his cane to stabilise himself, pretty soon he wouldn't need it anymore, his leg was still a bit weak, John insisted he use it until he could stand on one leg without falling over. Sherlock had replied that that was ridiculous but used it anyway to please John and stop him complaining. John turned the handle and went inside.

"Mrs Hudson, we're back!"

"I'm upstairs dear!"

Sherlock frowned. "She's probably been cleaning the flat...quickly John, before she ruins my experiments!" John gave him a look of disbelief. "You set up experiments before we went away?" "Of course" John sighed. "You're unbelievable" Sherlock patted his arm, instead of laughing and followed him up the staircase.

* * *

><p>It wasn't as bad as Sherlock had thought. She hadn't cleaned up that much of their flat. It wasn't mess, it was organised chaos and she really had no reason to tidy things up. But he supposed she just felt like doing something. She'd been a rock, John's words, since..the explosion. However a thorough sweep of the room gave him the impression that Mrs Hudson or someone else had been living here in their absence.<p>

"Sherlock! How are you dear?" Mrs Hudson appeared at his side, her arms out. He smiled and gave her a warm hug. She stood back, studying him. "You're still pale, John I thought you were supposed to take care of him!"

She chided the doctor who placed the last of the luggage on the floor. "I did, Mrs Hudson, but we hit a snag that's all" He gave her a peck on the cheek and a hug as well. Sherlock shot daggers at his friend with his eyes.

"Sherlock, really, only you would go on holiday and end up worse then when you'd left" She shook her head sadly, but gave him a small smile as he sat down on the couch. John took his place on his armchair, confused slightly about why one of Sherlock's books was on the opposite chair.

" So Mrs Hudson, anything interesting happen while we were away? "

She paused, not quite sure how to explain everything that had happened. "Well Sherlock.." Sherlock raised his eyebrows as she trailed off. "Yes?" He followed her gaze to the room behind her. "What is it?" John looked confused. "Who else has been here Mrs Hudson?" Their landlady appeared flustered and continued to glance at the kitchen.

Sherlock stood as he heard footsteps from that vicinity, gradually get closer and closer. Mrs Hudson turned, giving the stranger a sympathetic smile. "Good luck dear" and she patted their arm. Sherlock's stance changed, clearly defensive, John remained in his chair, but had his gun out.

"Who are you, show yourself!"

"Hello Sherlock"


	41. Chapter 41

Sherlock and John stood stunned. John with his mouth open, in apparent shock, Sherlock had gone white as a sheet. This wasn't possible. In no way on earth was this possible. Sherlock ran his hand over his mouth, taking one step forward and then back. No, no, no no! How could this be real? Had his overdose done something to his brain?

I was moving on...I was...I was dealing with this! Why? I don't understand. He felt tears in his eyes. The figure seemed real. Solid, not a ghost surely, there was no such things as ghosts. But here was one right in front of him. Just as pale, thiner than he remembered, with clear bruises, cuts and bandages..and crutches...No. You can't be alive..it's not possible.

John looked from Sherlock to Mycroft, still not capable of speech. Mycroft looked terrible. If it was Mycroft. John could see Sherlock's hands begin to shake. His friend was still recovering from his overdose and everything else. This might prove to much for him. He walked over to his friend, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. Concern had over taken his shock in mere seconds.

"Sherlock? You alright mate?"

"No. No. No!" He shook his head, tears falling, eyes fuming with pain, confusion, anger, but never leaving his late brother. He bit his lip, limped past John, straight to his room and slamming the door so hard that Mrs Hudson, Mycroft and John almost jumped out of their skins.

* * *

><p>Mycroft, who had been able to find the right words, looked down, unsure of John's reaction and feeling terrible due to his brother's. He felt a hand on his arm. "Well, you're not a spirit in any case...so you're alive then" He nodded, looking into the doctor's eyes. There were unshed tears in both.<p>

"What the hell were you thinking? Did you plan this? Fake your own death to achieve some stupid governmental objective?"

"John...listen.." It's not like that.

"No! You listen! Have you any idea what he's been going through? What the rest of us have been going through? You were dead, Mycroft! Dead. Sherlock stopped talking, communicating. We nearly lost him to that mind of his, Mycroft! He's been mourning you, breaking my heart, Mrs Hudsons."

John had begun to pace the flat, every so often pointing an accusing finger at Mycroft or flailing his hands about in anger. "We went on holiday! To help him deal with things. But he couldn't! He bloody couldn't stop thinking about you! All the things he might've said, all the memories he treasured...He overdosed Mycroft...trying to forget you and the pain. I hope you're happy. Now leave, I can't stand the sight of you"

John pointed to the door, gasping from his rant and staring daggers at the man who'd broken his best friend.

* * *

><p>John continued to glare at Mycroft, who refused to leave until John received the full story. But John wasn't exactly in the mood. Right now his best friend was probably having some sort of emotional breakdown in his bedroom. After all the shit he'd been through, John wouldn't blame him. Not wanting them to continue fighting and knowing Mycroft's version of events, Mrs Hudson moved til she was between them and ask for them to both calm down.<p>

"Sit both of you, I'll go make you some tea."

"Mrs Hudson, how can you let this man stay here? After what he did!"

"John dear, I know his story, you don't. Go ahead Mycroft dear, tell him the truth" She gave him a reassuring smile and entered the kitchen to make the tea. John grimaced but did as he was told, sitting himself down in his armchair, leaning back and folding his arm's across his chest. Mycroft took Sherlock's chair for himself. The two spent the next several minutes in silence. John glaring, Mycroft staring.

"Well go on then, spin your tale, Mycroft Holmes" It better be bloody good.

Mycroft took a deep breath and began. "I was at the Diogenes Club when it happened, John. I had been informed we'd received a package. This struck me as odd so I went to see for myself. The video footage showed me a man we had been following for some time now. The packagae itself was still where he left it. So I headed down the corridors to examine it. It was of course a bomb, with a timer. There was no time at all to defuse it. I sounded the alarm and in my last remaining seconds ran towards the bunker."

"Because thats partly the reason the building was chosen. However just as I reached it, the bomb exploded, propelling me into the room itself and sealing me in. And there I stayed for several days. During which I was declared dead. When I was finally rescued, my money, phone, house were all locked up and out of my reach. So you see John, I didn't go out to fake my death"

It was quite the tale. John wasn't sure if he believed it. But it fit. Mycroft's injured were certainly proof of his story. "So..you didn't fake ..ok, but you still could have got in contact with us..let him know you were alive. You..it broke his heart, Mycroft. You, broke it. You have to go in there..right now and explain things to him. And you bloody well better apologise too." John raised his hand, pointing to Sherlock's bedroom.

"Go. Now. Or I'll make you go"


	42. Chapter 42

Sherlock heard the door open, but said nothing, preferring to strum absently at his violin and stare out the open window. He felt another body seat itself down on his bed but didn't turn. He knew who it was. He didn't know how or why he was here but right now he didn't care. The two brothers sat in silence, while the younger played a soulful, sad song. It seemed to last for ages. When finished the consulting detective rested his violin on his knees, still staring outside.

"Sherlock.."

"Don't"

"Sherlock please, allow me to explain"

"It won't mean anything." The pain will still be there.

"Sherlock..I didn't do this on purpose...this was not by my design. I swear to you. I swear on father's grave" Sherlock turned at the mention of their father. His quick eyes studying every inch of his older sibling. He placed his instrument on the bed and stood, moving to sit next to his brother. Mycroft opened his mouth to continue speaking but Sherlock simply pressed on finger against his lips and resumed his examination. After ten minutes he seemed satisfied with his deductions and moved back a few paces on the bed.

"I'm sorry"

"Why?"

"Because I hurt you, this, my "death", it cut you deeply. Please forgive me Sherlock"

"I can't. Not yet. I.. don't know how I'm supposed to feel. I, I want to hit you, punch you for doing this to me. But, neither of us are really in a healthy condition." Mycroft nodded, that much he agreed with. Sherlock's lips twitched slightly. "Look at us. One of us dies and we both fall to pieces. Some Holmes' we are" Mycroft chuckled outright at this. Sherlock's lips tilted until they formed a full smile. It felt nice to smile again.

"Did you miss me?"

"Not one bit. Much quieter and less intrusions. I barely noticed your absence."

"Well, I have returned so there will have to be changes"

"Starting with you leaving our flat"

"Oh my dear Sherlock, I have nowhere to go right now. You can't very well turn out your own brother"

Sherlock felt a chuckle slid up his throat and exit his mouth. He'd miss this. The arguing, the teasing. It felt so, normal. Mycroft joined in the laughter. "I lied. I did miss you. More than you can know." Mycroft hesitantly placed his hand on Sherlock's arm in a gesture of comfort. "Forgive me" The detective rested his own hand over Mycroft's, needing reassurance his brother was really here. He had a sudden urge to do something he would never had normally done. But things were different. Things had changed.

He turned around completely on the bed and enveloped Mycroft in a tight desperate hug. Mycroft seemed to need this just as much as himself and he wrapped his arms around the thin body of his little brother. They held each other for several minutes before Sherlock let go with a cough and embarrassed look. "If you ever mention this to John, I really will kill you"

"Oh I believe you, dear brother. We have much to talk about. But you have returned home for your journey, perhaps tea and some biscuits are in order first."

"Thats satisfactory Mycroft"

"I should hope so. Now help me up"

"Help yourself up."

"Cretan"

"Sod"

* * *

><p>John smiled from the door and moved back to his chair.<p>

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry its so short and crap and late and everything...


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